Anagapesis
by OlympianWine
Summary: (Prompt-based: Imagine Loki being in love with his brother's wife.) You have a perfect life; a loving husband, a beautiful baby. But when that comes crashing down, you must put survival ahead of sentiment, and turn to to a darker prince. However appearances can be deceiving - and the line between love and hate is fine indeed.
1. Prologue

**(Prompt-based: 'Imagine Loki being in love with his brother's wife.')**

 **Oh no, another story. This prologue is rather lengthy but I think necessary to get a grip of the atmosphere and feeling for the main story. No warnings needed for this chapter, but for future chapters I will put notes at the bottom in order to not spoil anything for readers who do not want to be spoiled. Featuring an angsty/bitter!Loki and tons of family drama. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

 **Prologue**

"What in the norns are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

"Struggling apparently."

Loki watched in amusement from his position against the tree as you strained to reach one of the top branches. He clicked his fingers and the apple you were aiming for dropped instantly, hitting you neatly on the head. "Ow!"

He laughed at your indignation, and lazily caught the fruit that you promptly threw at him. "Come for a ride with me? I'm looking to escape Amora."

You shot him a sly grin. "Escape? I hear she rather likes you."

He frowned. "She's as likely to bedhead me as she is to do anything else."

"She's very pretty though, you could do worse."

"Is she?" he asked disinterestedly. "Anyway, I've barely seen you this whole week, I've got lessons with Father tomorrow, and I could really do with the exercise. Let's go."

You sent your friend an apologetic look, "I would, but your mother's asked me to get these."

"So tell her you were with me, she won't mind." You rolled your eyes. Princes could be so spoiled sometimes. The apple appeared in front of you in midair; as you took it, Loki lifted his illusion and snatched it back. "Please?" he asked, taking a large bite from the fruit.

"Loki..."

He looked disheartened. "Fine."

Your heart went out to him. "Why don't you hide out here a while? We can still catch up."

He arched a brow. "I do believe you just plan to profit from my advantageous height."

You grinned, "That too."

Loki rolled his eyes, but with a wave of his hand all the fruit fell from the tree. You laughed and kissed his cheek, "Thank you very much."

He rolled his eyes again and dropped to the grassy floor. "I've upheld my half of the bargain, now your turn." Tossing the basket, you sat down beside him. He stretched out in the grass like a large cat, and situated his head comfortably on your lap. Strands of his fine black hair flowed over your knees, and you began fiddling them into a semblance of a tiny braid. He closed his eyes.

"So, I assume you have things to tell me?"

"Ugh."

You laughed. "Is that a yes?"

Loki frowned, and you thought he looked rather amusing from your angle. "Thor's won another victory." The amusement you'd secretly felt dissipated. So it was going to be one of those talks.

Your answer was diplomatic, "He must be pleased."

"He's always pleased with himself. Father's pleased of course, he's throwing a feast tomorrow. Don't you think it's a lot of fuss for such a small thing?"

"It's certainly a lot of expenditure."

The frown had only deepened. "Even Mother's been fawning over him today, have you seen it?"

"Not so far." In fact you rarely saw Loki's oft-spoken of elder brother. You knew who he was and what he looked like of course, like the rest of the kingdom, but your interactions had been limited to a handful of nods in passing and polite applause at state events. You thought he seemed rather full of himself, which Loki assured you he was. "Has he been lording it over you?"

"No - but he doesn't have to. I imagine tomorrow will be another sermon from father in King Thor's honour."

"He's not King yet."

"He will be one day," Loki said bitterly. You reached the end of the braid. "I don't know why Father bothers teaching me the same things, he evidently has no use for me."

You sighed. "That's not true; you'd make an excellent statesman, or even a general. Which would you prefer to be?"

"It doesn't matter what I want. I'm sure Father will make a decision."

Odin Allfather. You did not envy Loki his parents. "Maybe if you mentioned to him how you feel-"

"Are you mad?" Loki sat up. "Remember what happened the last time I said I felt undervalued? 'Then do something of worth.' Norns, even when Thor told him he was being unreasonable he threatened to take Mjolnir from him." He was glowering by now.

You were lost for words. "At least Thor's on your side."

Loki scoffed. "Yes, out of heroism. His poor little brother, always needing him to come save the day. "He probably enjoys it," he mused darkly, "being the golden son. I suppose the more of a disappointment I am, the brighter he is. Do you know what his friends think? They think I'm cowardly. 'The sly one' they call me."

You pursed your lips. "They're fools, they don't even know you."

His face was morose. "They don't have to know me to have opinions. And then Thor's there to defend me," he spat it as thought it was some great sin. "It just makes everything worse." You both fell silent.

"It's not fair," he whispered bitterly.

You stared down at him, at the darkness that had clouded his features. You tugged at his hair. "Loki, it doesn't matter what a few idiots think. You're smart, and you're handsome, and you're more talented than the rest of them put together." He didn't respond but you could see he was listening. "And as for your father... well."

Loki opened his eyes slowly. "Well?"

You sighed exasperatedly. "He's just a man Loki, he's made mistakes too. He's not some perfect bastion you need to prove yourself to."

"Tell him that."

"I will. I'll walk in there and I'll say, 'Excuse me All-father, but you seriously need to back off.'"

Loki's mouth twitched. "He'd have you flogged."

"No he wouldn't, your mother would stop him."

"And so would I," he said fiercely.

You looked at him. "You would?" He nodded. You smiled. "See? Not many men would go against the almighty Odin's wrath. He wants you to be brave and strong and fearsome, but can't you see you already are?"

Loki looked torn. "Not like Thor is."

"But you're not Thor, you're you. Personally, I think you're wonderful."

He smiled one of his rare genuine smiles. "You do?"

You smiled back, "Of course I do."

He reached up and stroked your cheek quickly, his face deep in thought. Then he spoke your name, and sat up as you looked at him with a questioning gaze. "There's something I have to tell you." There was an uncharacteristic uncertainty on his face and it made your brow crease. "It's not... It's not really a simple thing to say. It is, but it's also not."

With mounting concern, you waited patiently for him to find the right words. It was very unlike Loki to struggle to say something. After a few moments he rubbed his face in frustration and exhaled.

"Loki?"

He shook his head and flopped back into the grass. "Nevermind. It's not important."

"Are you sure? You seem upset."

"How could I be upset? I'm with you." You rolled your eyes at his smoothness - clearly he was recovering his silver tongue.

You stretched. "Fine, don't tell me. Now will you help me gather these apples?"

* * *

Courtyard, was all the note said. You rolled your eyes; Loki was so cryptic at times. But if he was in the courtyard then he was training, and you were in no rush to linger in the dirt and heat. So you changed your gown, washed your face, braided your hair, and chatted with a few servant girls on your way down.

When you at last got there, they were still at it. You sighed and climbed the stands to sit and wait for Loki to finish - whatever he wanted to do must not be that urgent if he was still training. Crossing one leg over the other, you squinted in the sun. Loki was sparring some blonde man with a sword; the ring of blades meeting echoed repeatedly around them as they danced. Several short minutes passed before they came to a draw and you clapped, half to support your friend and half to draw his attention.

Loki looked up and grinned, his black hair inky with sweat. He gave a short bow and you laughed.

"How long have you been there?" he asked as he came towards you. Standing, you shrugged. "Only a little while; I imagined you might take your time here." You accompanied him to the water basin, squealing as he splashed his face and then flicked some in your direction. He laughed and you slapped his arm. "Why don't you try?" he suggested, fingering one of the golden daggers tucked into his side.

Athletics and weaponry was not your strong suit, unlike some. "Very funny," you retorted.

Loki shrugged. "No harm in it," he said, pulling one out. "Here, take this."

You groaned. "Loki..."

"Oh go on," he wheedled, "for me?"

You bit your lip before sighing. "Fine." Accepting the blade, you let him pull you out and direct you into the correct stance. "Loki, really, I don't think this is a good idea."

"You'll be fine," he assured you. "Now, you see that straw man there?" The object in question was at least 10 feet away. You nodded. "Take the knife, like so," he gently maneuvered your fingers on the hilt, "and relax your arm. Line it up."

The tip of the knife swayed slightly in your hand as you tried to gauge the best height to hold it, and Loki came to stand close behind you. "Draw your arm back, to here, and then..."

The knife hit the straw man and dropped to the floor. You winced. "I told you, I'm not made for this."

"Practice makes perfect," he told you, although there was an amused glint in his eye. "Here, go again."

You tried again, and again, and again, under Loki's instruction - until you began to think it was actually working.

"Ow!" A yelp of pain came from just past the target, where you had thrown the dagger, and a tall blonde man turned quickly and marched towards you.

You gasped, "Oh my god - Loki!"

He was almost bent double, shaking with laughter as the blonde came closer. "I can't believe..." he gasped, tears of mirth in his eyes. "You.. stabbed Thor!" He began howling with glee.

"Loki, it's not funny!" You said frantically.

"Excuse me!"

Whipping around, you began to apologise immediately. "My prince, I am so sorry, it was a complete accident!" You tried to explain and sound appropriately remorseful at the same time. "Loki was trying to teach me how to throw knives, I'm not good at it, I was aiming for the straw man and I didn't even know you were there! I'm so, so sorry!" You glared at Loki, but he was still too delighted to be any help.

Then you looked Thor in the face, and your stomach flipped. He was by far one of the most handsome men you'd ever seen - just as handsome as Loki, although in a different way. His hair was sun-kissed and his eyes sparkled, and it gradually occurred to you that he was shaking his head in humour, not anger.

"It's alright," he said, with a warm voice. "It gave Sif quite a fright though - I should have known this was one of your tricks, brother." Loki snorted. Thor looked back at you, and his eyes widened a little. "Is this a friend of yours?" he asked, confusion and a little shyness in his tone.

You had lost your tongue as Loki introduced you both; and it seemed that Thor was experiencing the same thing. "Lovely to meet you," he said, holding out his hand. You gave it to him numbly, and he kissed it. Blood rushed to your cheeks. Vaguely, you were aware of Loki washing his face again.

"And you, your highness." You finally remembered your manners, and dropped into a curtsy. Thor looked embarrassed.

"No, please, please, it's really quite fine! It doesn't matter!" He smiled at you - not the cocky grin he normally sported at parades and feasts - but a real smile, a bashful one. You automatically smiled back. "Are you at court?"

"Yes, I'm in your mother's service," you explained. "She's been kind enough to add me to her ladies."

He smiled again, "I see - but I've never seen you?"

"I think we run in different circles my prince, I wouldn't be surprised."

"Oh," he seemed disappointed. "Well, anytime you feel like making use of the training ground then you're most welcome. Although in future I'd recommend sticking with the wooden targets instead of live ones," he flashed a blinding grin.

You suddenly felt less embarrassed, and laughed. Thor swallowed. "I will do my best, my prince, but I think it's safer for the general population that I stay far from knives."

He chuckled. "That may be wise. But," he took a step back, hovering between you and rejoining his comrades. "If you find yourself here again, don't be shy of seeking me out. Who knows, perhaps the Lady Sif will make a warrior of you yet."

"I highly doubt that," you replied, inwardly horrified that the legendary Lady Sif would ever have to witness your terrible skills.

Thor shrugged. "Stranger things have happened. You did say you're a lady in waiting to my mother?"

"Yes, my prince."

"Thor, please. So you'll be at the banquet tonight?"

Your heart made an odd bounce. "I will."

"I don't suppose you'd like to... I don't know, dance? Or just talk, or drink, or something? Not that you have to drink, or that you have to do anything, it was just an idea-" Thor looked vaguely panicked and his cheeks were pink.

You smiled again. "I love dancing."

He looked relieved. "Excellent! I'll - uh - I'll find you later then?" You nodded, and he smiled back as your eyes met. You watched him go until he was out of sight.

Loki was still by the basin, drying his face. "So, was he livid?" he asked lightly.

"No, he wasn't. He was," your eyes went back tot he far side of the yard, "he was rather nice about the whole thing really." The black-haired man glanced at you, a strange searching look on his face. "What?"

He looked away. He was twisting the towel between his hands. "Nothing."

* * *

"Loki?"

He was leaning against the fireplace, staring unblinking into the leaping flames. Cautiously, you made your way over to him. "Thor is worried about you," you said quietly, trying to catch a hint of expression on his face.

He only scoffed and brought a goblet that you hadn't realised he had been holding to his lips. "So you're here at my brother's behest," Loki drawled. "How considerate." The goblet clanged as he placed it with force onto the mantlepiece.

"You left the banquet early."

He didn't reply. You waited.

"Foolish," Loki said at last. "I was a fool to think-" He cut himself off and shook his head, reaching for the goblet again only to find it empty. With a disgusted exclamation he tossed it into the fire. The flames roared and spat, making you jump back. How much had he drank?

"You were not foolish," you told him measuredly, unsure if he was even listening. "You both knew this day would come; who gained what was never for either of you to decide."

"What I knew - what I still know," Loki spat, gaze fixed on the metal slowly being discoloured by the fire, "is that I worked harder than him, that I tried harder. I made every effort, did everything that was asked..." His eyes glittered suspiciously and you moved closer to him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It's never enough. I..." he laughed bitterly. "I am not enough."

"That's not true-"

"Is it not?" He turned on you suddenly and you could smell the oaky aroma of wine on him, "Which of us is the warrior? Which of us is lauded and laden with trophies after every battle? Which one of us do the girls squeal over and the men defer to? Whose name are they chanting out there at this very moment?" You tried to stop his tirade but he continued, furiously. "He gets everything, always! He can do no wrong, can never have too much! I hate him."

You couldn't help the shock that coursed through you. Loki often lost his temper with his brother, called him an idiot and an oaf, sometimes they'd even fought physically - but it never lasted long and was always forgotten. This vicious resentment was entirely new to you. But then, you reasoned, he was drunk and hurt besides.

"You don't hate him, he's your brother." You argued softly. "And Loki, he needs you. You are clever and tempered and-"

"I am everything he is not," Loki said blandly. "And so I must do everything for him, with no reward or recognition. Mine is truly a fortunate position."

"Thor understands how valuable you are-"

"And what? So he makes me an advisor, and I sit on his councils and make his plans for him and get _what_ in return? Respect? Admiration? Love? What?" He asked, moving even closer, towering over you. "What do I get? What do I get that he doesn't?" There was a look on his face; a hunger that you had never seen him wear before, and you had to stop yourself from backing away. "He gets everything," Loki whispered, and you felt his fingertips scrape your arms, "He always has and always will."

You sighed. What could you say? He was not wrong; and yet Thor was not a bad man, nor would he make a bad king. You stepped back. Trying to balance a friendship with Loki while something blossomed between you and Thor had become a chore - though you loved them both, you would not speak ill of either of them. His face fell.

"Forgive me, my lady," Loki said coolly. "I forget you're my brother's confidant now also. You may leave."

"Loki..." You instantly regretted pulling away from him. "We're still friends. I'm not judging you for being disappointed."

He turned away from you. "Just go."

* * *

Happiness. You had never felt such happiness in your life. "Loki?" You searched all of your favourite hiding spots, urged on by the need to share your news with him. He wasn't in the alcove, nor the library, nor his chambers. Where else could he be? Hurrying, you grabbed the nearest guard and asked them - he was in the stables. Madly, you dashed off.

"Loki!" You reached the yard just in time to see him mounting his black stallion. "Loki!"

At your call he stiffened, pulling the reins to a stop. His horse thrashed.

You came to a dizzy stop in front of him. "I've been looking for you everywhere!" You gasped, a stitch in your side. The smile you'd worn on your quest was still in place. "Where are you going?"

"It doesn't matter."

You leaned forward to stroke his horse's neck. "Then it can wait. I have to tell you-"

"That you're marrying my brother? Yes, he already told me." The flatness in his voice caused your joy to dim a little.

"Oh! Well... Yes, that's what I came to say," you smiled up at him, trying to ease whatever had put him in this black mood. "I also came to thank you."

"Thank me?" He repeated, still not looking at you. "For what?"

You laid a hand on his knee. "For introducing us, for being a wonderful friend. I want-"

Loki started laughing, a cold and brittle sound. "You want a lot of things, don't you?" He looked down his nose at you. "It must be nice, for a nobody, to marry the crown prince."

The smile disappeared from your face and your eyes widened. "What?" He sneered and you removed your hand from him. It took a moment for the words to come. "I thought... I thought you'd be happy for me."

"Happy? Very well." He smiled at you icily then. "Congratulations, my lady, on being just as shallow and stupid as the rest of the population. Truly, this kingdom will be fortunate to have a queen such as you." His mocking words made you flinch. Why was he being so cruel? His horse began to paw restlessly at the ground again. Loki continued. "I thought you were different. But you're just like the rest - another starry-eyed waif, scrabbling to get your piece of him."

"Loki..."

He leaned down. "You're not good enough for my brother," Loki hissed, "and one day he'll see that." The tears that had begun to fill your eyes threatened to overflow.

"Loki..." You tried one last time to reach out to him, but he was clearly done with your conversation. He finally let his horse go; the wind blew strands of hair across your wet cheeks as both horse and rider raced out of the courtyard and into the distance.


	2. Five Years Later

**Again, no warning needed. This chapter is Thor/Reader centric, but I assure you that will soon change...**

* * *

 _Return home at once. We need you._

The tall prince reads the letter over in the encampment. Worlds away, in a military outpost, and Odin's demands were still ceaseless. Behind him, the woman he'd spent the last few nights with stirs under the heavy furs on his bed. "My lord?"

He folds the paper neatly into a small square. "What is it?"

Her voice is lilting and seductive. "Come back to bed, my lord." What was her name, Freydis? Whatever it was, she was good at her trade.

Loki turned to her. She smiles at him through thick lashes. "You can go," he said carelessly. "There's silver on the table."

She took it in her stride. "Thank you, my lord." He turns away as she stands, bare as the day she was born, and begins to dress. "Will you be fighting soon?"

"No." His cold green gaze rests on the note. "My father has summoned me back to Asgard."

The prostitute's laugh rings out. "I did not think you were a man to be summoned, my lord."

He frowns. "All children must concur with their parents wishes."

"I wouldn't know my lord, my parents died a long time ago."

"I don't care."

Her ornate jewellery tinkled as she came towards him. "Are you looking forward to going home? Or do you have some dour wife to return to?"

Loki's eyes narrow. "That's none of your concern."

"Oh, so serious!" The girl whose name he did not know laughed. "She must be hard work. What's wrong with her, is she cruel?"

"Not really."

"Ugly then?"

"Far from it."

She laughed again. "Then what's wrong with her? There must be something, if you'd rather be on a battlefield then in her arms."

He turns to her sharply. "I'm not paying you for your chatter. Take your payment and leave before I have you thrown to the men."

The prostitute faltered, her laughing eyes wide at his coldness. She recovered herself and curtsied. "My lord." Loki watches her leave. Once the entrance to his tent had flapped shut, he drops into a chair, glowering at the letter. So it was back to Asgard. Back to his father, back to his brother. Back to _her_.

* * *

Sighing, you strode through the palace. Passing a member of the einherjar, you command him to stop. "Where is the King?"

"Training grounds, your grace."

You roll your eyes fondly. Several years on the throne and yet Thor was still the same prince you'd fallen in love with. "Thank you." You continue, nodding politely at the servants and courtiers who bow to you along the way. Reaching the yard, you paused with one foot dangling above the dirty, dusty ground. Glancing at the fine fabric of your gown, you step back and scan the area, your eyes finding no trace of your husband.

The two of you were going to be late to the feast. You hurried around the edge of the grounds, keeping a lookout until finally a familiar golden head catches your eye. Making your way as close to him as the clean floor would allow, you open your mouth to call out a reminder that he truly could not afford to be late to another diplomatic mission.

Then your eyes narrow. He was sparring; but not with Lady Sif, or Fandral, or any of his common partners. The lean, black-clad man currently slicing a knife dangerously close to your beloved's throat was _him_. Loki. Your spirits dampened immediately.

A low chuckle echoes across the yard and you are greeted with the sight of Loki's knife pointed under Thor's jaw. "Killed you," came that velvety voice.

"Aye," your husband concedes, hands in the air. Just as Loki lowered the knife triumphantly, Thor kicked his legs out from under him, sending him sprawling to the dirt. Loki jumped up immediately, a snarl on his face as his brother laughed. You smirk. Anything that made Loki lose his icy composure pleased you.

"Thor," you called.

He turns at the sound of your voice, an affectionate smile on his face. Loki too looks your way, but you ignore him. You gestured and Thor jogged over to you. Leaning in to kiss him, you squeak in sudden outrage as his sweaty and dusty hands go to your hair. "No!" You pushed him away, laughing.

He smiles at you again. "What brings you here?" he asked, ocean eyes sparkling.

You abruptly remember your mission. "We have a feast to attend." He nods, "In an hour."

Thor frowned. "What time is it?"

"Six."

He cursed, jumping up and over the stone railing with athleticism hidden by the bulk of his muscle. Then he sweeps you into a proper kiss; a deep, loving one that makes you wish you were both spending the night on furs beside a fire instead. Maybe you didn't mind the sweat and the dust so much after all. Thor releases you with one arm and tucks the other over your shoulder.

"Loki!" He calls back to the man still half across the grounds. "One hour, the feasting hall. We'll continue this there, brother." You didn't care to listen to Loki's reply, secure against Thor's side. The pair of you chatter lightly as you make your way towards the royal chambers.

"Where are you going?" He asks as you part ways outside the doors of your shared quarters.

"I need to put Magni to bed now or he'll be up all night."

Thor immediately lights up at the mention of his son and drops his hand from the doorhandle. "I'll come too."

"Absolutely not," you retorted, glancing at his clothing sternly. He looks exasperated, but concedes with a shrug.

"Tell him I'll be in to see him later." He told you as you rounded the corner. You give him a last smile before slipping out of sight. The royal nursery was mercifully only one corridor away - you could traverse the distance in a few minutes. As you approached it, the sound of Magni's cries reached your ears and pulled on your chest; your feet moved faster.

Entering the room, the handpicked nurses greet you in a somewhat dishevelled state. The three women are busy fussing and arguing over the infant in hushed but furious tones, their frantic actions clashing with the cosy cream-gold of the room. You instantly hold out your arms. "Give him to me."

They curtsy and sing pleasantries before handing Magni to you. The weight of the baby in your arms automatically eased any weariness from the day - even screaming and clamouring, your son brought a smile to your face.

"Hush now, my love," you coo softly, rocking him in your arms. "Mama's here, hush. Sweet boy, come now..." You dismiss them all with a nod and they left, eager to leave you to deal with him. You don't mind. You could happily spend whole days just rocking your son to sleep.

"Your father's coming to see you later," you tell him, strolling around the large room. Magni continues to cry. "He's making you a gift for your birthday, isn't that lovely? Yes, darling hush, hush..." You had the best part of an hour to quieten the babe, and he settled sooner in your arms than he did in anyone else's. As his eyelids drooped, you carefully laid him in the crib Thor had chosen for him.

Magni begins to fuss again as he adjusts to his new position and you bend over him, murmuring. Slowly rocking the crib, you watched the baby fall into sleep, utterly at peace with the world. Time flowed by, and soon enough you heard the nursery door softly brush open behind you. Thor, you thought, not glancing up.

He comes to rest just behind you, close enough that you can feel the heat from his body against your back.

"Well well, he is Thor's after all."

Your eyes widen and you straighten instantly. "What are you doing here?" You snap, turning to your brother-in-law. You had misjudged the distance; he was mere centimetres away, his form towering over you. Pushing him aside, you round the crib so that you hovered opposite him. Loki's visits came in two flavours - he either ignored you to the point of embarrassment, or he actively seeked you out to taunt you with barbed jabs. Either option came with a healthy dose of long, cold stares. Luckily, his visits to Asgard were few and far between.

"Why, I've come to see my nephew of course," he replies smoothly. You bristle as his cool gaze drops to your son. He cocked his head. "Well done sister. If you'd waited any longer Father would've had the marriage annulled ."

You glared. "I'm not your sister. Why are you here? Shouldn't you be off doing whatever you do to occupy yourself? I can only _assume_ it involves torture of some kind."

Loki chuckles. "Touring the realms? Alas, if only. But I am nothing if not dutiful, and this is a family affair after all. What can a son do but obey." He looks at you critically. "Mother said you're feeding him yourself."

"Yes?"

His gaze dropped again. "Ah." That single, insinuating sound filled you with rage. "I thought your complexion appeared more feeble than usual."

"I can only assume your mother never fed you herself; I'm sure if she had you'd have swallowed some manners by now."

Loki's eyes flashed. "A true queen doesn't lower herself to such standards. Wetnurses are common folk, after all."

Magni began to fuss again. You'd long ceased to care about Loki's elitism, and you happily ignore him in favour of stroking your son's tiny blonde head. "Ignore the bad man, my love," you whisper. The soft hairs slip through your fingers as fine as thread, catching the light from the evening sun. Your eyes meet over the cradle. "He won't be here long." Loki's lip curled.

"Nor will you. The feast starts now."

You grit your teeth. Were you never to be rid of him? Bending down, you press a gentle kiss to the baby's brow before straightening your back. Brushing past Loki and drifting towards the door, you turn. He remained standing over the crib, hands clasped behind his back. It struck you how hard and sharp he had become with adulthood - any softness from his jaw had been melted away, and where he had once been wiry he was now sinewy and angular. His lips move.

"Loki." You snapped quietly.

He turns then, face perfectly devoid of any warmth. "Coming, sister dear." You both slipped out of the room. As the door shut behind you, he spoke. "Motherhood has turned you into a real she-wolf, hasn't it?"

Your lips press tightly together and he chuckles, following you closely through the palace like a dark shadow.

* * *

Loki offers you his hand in front of the whole feasting hall once you enter, and for propriety's sake you have to accept. His grip is cool and too tight, and you don't spare him another moments notice once you both reach the high table where Thor sits waiting. You take your seat on Thor's right and he takes his left. The Alfheimr ambassador dips his head deeply. "Your Grace."

"Forgive my lateness ambassador, I do hope you were not waiting long."

"Not at all." The light-elf's accent is heavy and his smile is easy. "I was just congratulating your husband on your son. You must be proud."

You smile back in acknowledgement, already liking him. Perhaps this feast would go easier than the last, you mused, reaching for your wine glass. Thor finishes his chatter and looks to you before rising to his feat. The nobles sitting at the front fall silent, and that extends quickly to the farthest reaches of the hall.

"My friends," Thor begins, "I welcome you to my hall and to my table. We gather tonight..."

It's the same rudimentary speech that is always given before ceremonial banquets and your mind wanders elsewhere. It comes back to you upon picking up some surprising words. "... and so, tomorrow at noon we will ride forth and quickly subdue the forces at our borders. I know for some of you this will be your third campaign this year already, and this time I will accompany you."

A cheer rises as you look at him, careful to keep your countenance clear. Normally you were privy to such matters, but he had sprung it upon you in the same moment he had his troops.

"I have no doubt," Thor finishes. "That this shall be a clean victory, and we may all return home to our families sooner rather than later. Skol!" The audience answers him in kind, and though it warms you to see how dearly he is loved by his people, you cannot help but feel a little petulant. Thor sits back down, and turns to you, already contrite.

"Such news."

He sighs. "Forgive me for not mentioning it to you. I did not realise I would be going." You frown and he explains curtly. "Father thinks it best."

You suppressed the urge to roll your eyes. "Your father isn't here," you remind him. Odin and Frigga divided their time between Asgard and strolling the realms, enjoying their twilight years. But even now, five years into Thor's reign, Odin's shadow hung over his son; still demanding and criticising. Sometimes you wondered if the Allfather was truly at peace with giving up his power. Thor's face is somewhat clouded, the telltale sign of a story beneath his words and you let it drop. You'd find out later.

The feast commences and Asgard revels, long after the food is gone and men have drunk their fill of mead. Thor dances with you several times before being pulled away by his friends and you let him go happily enough, dancing next with the Alfheimr ambassador.

"I do hope you'll tell your husband how very grateful we are for his aid," the elf said earnestly. "I feel that I do not know enough asgardian to communicate it properly."

"Your language is impeccable," you assure him. The music ended and a bawdy song struck up. Cringing inwardly, you gestured to a table. "Shall we?"

The elf smiles. "Please. I am not as young as I once was."

Guiding him through the throng, both of you seem relieved to sit again. A few tables away, half-concealed in shadows, the lithe figure of Loki sits, purring into the ear of a pink-cheeked servant girl, precariously balanced on his lap. He meets your eyes and smiles mockingly. You look away.

You ask the ambassador questions about his realm, his family, his interests, before guiding the conversation back to politics. "So, what precisely has happened at your borders?" you asked. "I beg your pardon, but I thought your magic far stronger than ours."

"Normally it is," the elf said gravely. "But there seems to be a far stronger force, an overwhelming force at has weakened our defences, and left the countryside open to invaders."

You imagined living somewhere that aliens could descend from the skies and start destruction overnight. "I'm glad Asgard is able to help."

He nods. "As am I. Now, your Grace, I am quite tired. I hope you don't find me rude, but I fear my bed calls for tonight." He stood and bowed, and you give him your hand to kiss before wishing him farewell. Not quite that tired yourself, you sit a while sipping your wine, watching people's revelry and making small-talk with passing courtiers.

Loki waits until the elf has gone before sidling over to you. "I see my brother has left you unattended, how very careless. Any beast passing by could carry you off." You ignored him. He relaxes into a chair at your side. "But then I suppose you'd be rather a heavy load to carry - you've not quite shifted that baby weight yet my lady."

"What piercing observations you make, Loki. You would make an excellent blind man."

He laughs. "Come now, my lady-"

"I am your queen," you remind him curtly.

"Not _my_ queen." You give him an irascible look and he continues. "Tell me, are you worried for your beloved?"

You frown. "Hardly."

"Heartless of you."

"I do not worry for Thor," you retort with a snap, "because I have faith in him. Such minor events pose no threat to him."

Loki shrugged. "Stranger things have happened."

You narrowed your eyes at him and he observes you with a glittering gaze. "What are you saying?"

"Nothing." He crosses a boot over his knee, brushing against your gown. "I will of course, endeavour to keep my dear brother alive and free from harm." Something in his voice makes your spine curl. He has grown fearsome over the years, and now you find hidden meanings and slights in his every word.

"You know Loki," you say quietly, so quietly that he has to lean closer to hear you. "Sometimes I wonder if my husband puts too much trust in you. After all," you touch upon a subject that is intimate, a reminder of your past closeness, "the sting of an envious friend is sharper than a distant enemy is it not? And you must be so _very_ envious, spending your life not quite measuring up to Thor."

Whatever amusement, mocking as it had been, that had lingered in his eyes disappeared. Loki stood and you stood with him, unwilling to concede to him in this. He bends his dark head close to yours, so close your noses nearly touch. "Sweet sister," he says, voice icy like the Jotnar winds, "your teeth have become fangs of late." He takes your hand and presses his thin lips against your knuckles, and your eyes never once move from his.

His mouth lingers - and then you feel a small, obscene swipe of his tongue over the skin. You snatch your hand back. Loki unfolds to his full height like a long, lazy snake, and waltzes past you.

* * *

Upon returning to your rooms for the night, you are surprised to find them empty. You call out for Thor but receive no answer. With a sigh, you take a lamp and leave once again. Sure enough, you find him in Magni's nursery, the infant asleep and ensconced in his arms. Quietly, you put down the lamp.

"Saying goodbye already?" you ask in a hushed tone as you come to stand beside your husband. Thor nods.

"You're to bed rather late," he said, just as quiet. "What kept you?"

"Loki." Thor sighs. "He hates me," you say bluntly.

His golden hair moves as he shakes his head wearily. "He does not. He's just... jealous."

You scoffed. "Jealous? Of what?"

Your husband sighed again. "Loki's been my closest companion since we were born. It's not unreasonable for him to feel shortchanged."

"I'm not trying to take you away from him," you defended.

Thor looks at you sympathetically. "I know that, but Loki's always been... possessive. I'm sure in time he'll come round."

"In time? Thor, it's been five years since we were married."

He drops his gaze back to the baby, and you both stand in silence. After a while he speaks again with a quiet voice. "I think there may be another reason besides that. I've begun to wonder if he had some... affection for you."

You barely refrain from snorting. "Thor, that's absurd."

He looked troubled. "I don't know," he mutters. "It's just a suspicion."

You roll your eyes. "You're blinded by affection. He dislikes me, and I him. That's all there is to it."

Thor gave that short nod that he did whenever his mind was already drifting and you watch him with fondness. His mouth quirks handsomely at the corner under your gaze. Soon he returns Magni to his crib, careful not to wake the child as he tucks the light blanket over him. You turn back towards the door. "We've a long day tomorrow - the council will want you to discuss instructions in the morning, and you'll have to leave me a list of urgent business to take care of while you're gone..." Your mind is already spinning thinking of how you'll have to change your routine and delegate duties.

"Father's offered to come and act as regent in my stead."

You look at Thor sharply. His face is disgruntled. "Did he offer, or did he dictate?"

"He says it's in your best interests, since you're a mother now."

"Dictated then." Thor's jaw clenches. You sigh in aggravation and move to his side again, "Why don't you just refuse to go tomorrow? You are the king, you can stay if you wish."

"It'll raise morale if I go. I've been absent from the battlefield too long."

You look at him closely. "Do you think that, or does Odin?"

He didn't respond.

"Thor."

He glances at you, with troubled eyes.

"Are you nervous?" you ask him, surprised.

He nods silently. Your brows raise. Thor was like the sun; sure and steady. To see him falter in his own confidence was a rare occurrence. "Why?" He was many things, kind and sincere and strong, but also hardheaded. You knew he wouldn't put off a task without a definite reason.

"I don't want to leave him," he said quietly, eyes on his sleeping son. With a large hand he reached down and carefully stroked Magni's cheek. "I worry about his well-being while I'm gone."

Sudden affection filled your chest. His devotion to your child only strengthened the bond between you. "And you don't worry about mine?" you tease.

Thor chuckles. "I think we both know you're more than capable of looking after yourself." You smiled.

"Do you think he'll forget me?"

"What?" Incredulity coloured your tone. You laugh softly, "No, never." Stepping closer to him, you loop your arms around his frame. He sighs. "You'll be back in a few weeks, victorious as always, and all these doubts will be long gone." You smile up at him proudly. "After all, when was the last time you lost a battle?"

"I suppose," he said begrudgingly, the edges of his mouth curving up. He shakes his head. "You're right, of course." Thor bent his head and kissed your temple. "My wise queen. Don't let father bully you while I'm gone."

You scoff. "When do I ever?"

Thor smiled at last. "Indeed." The two of you fall silent, wrapped in your own little world. Whatever the following days would bring, you were certain you'd weather them together.


	3. Dark into the Heat

**Omg finally, I've got past the first 2 chapters of a story! I'm briefly introducing the character of Lorelai; I've never seen Agents of Shield, I just needed an Asgardian name for a redhead and she fit the description, so that character may be different from what you know.**

 **There ARE warnings for this chapter - I've put them in the notes at the end, so if you dislike spoilers read on.**

* * *

Loki saunters through Asgard's corridors feeling rather relaxed. The palace is just awakening, most nobles still recovering from the previous night's festivities, and the muted hum of servants surrounds him. Opening the door to the council chamber, he steps into the room and pauses.

Odin's one blue eye sizes him up coolly. "You're late."

He sets his jaw. "I didn't realise-"

"Sit."

Loki nods stiffly and does as he bids. Across the table Frigga smiles at him. "How are you, Loki? I haven't received a letter in some weeks now."

"I'm well, thank you Mother." His words are formal but his voice is muted almost to softness. He hasn't seen Frigga in a year, and he's missed her comforting presence. "I'll write to you from this battle."

All three sat in silence. Odin's fingers drummed against the heavy oak table. "Where is your brother?" he asks brusquely.

"How would I know?"

The older man casts him a querulous glare.

Loki folds his arms. They continue to sit a while longer, until finally Thor's voice came from outside the door. It opens and his brother enters, smiling wide. His expression fades rapidly as his eyes land on their father. "Thor." Odin's voice is flat. "So good of you to join us."

 _She_ comes in behind him, and glances first at Odin then her husband. Thor's eyes harden. "I did not realise you would be joining us this morning Father."

Whatever the Allfather's response would be is lost; Frigga rose and goes to her eldest son with welcoming arms. He embraces her with a fond smile, before walking to the table. Behind him, Frigga kisses her daughter-in-law on the cheek, the two women greeting each other warmly. Loki looks back to his brother, who has faltered in his step - Odin is sat at the head of the table, where Thor would usually be seated.

Thor's brow creases, though he remains respectful. "Father..." He nods his head towards the spare seats. _She_ walks up behind him, her eyes lingering on Odin. He glowers. Frigga threads her hands together.

At length, the Allfather stands and moves to the right. "Loki."

Shoulders tight and face neutral, Loki rises and lets his father take his place at Thor's right. He sees Thor and his wife exchange a look before taking their places - Thor at the head with Frigga on his left, and her beside the Allmother. She is directly opposite him, and he allows himself a minute to watch her. She's clad in a regal gown of crimson and gold; Thor's colours, clearly a show of support for the husband she loves so much. Loki wrinkles his nose.

Thor speaks. "Shall we wait for the others to join us?"

"No need. I have already conferred with General Tyr, and he will follow our commands."

 _She_ looks sharply at Odin. "Your commands?"

His father returns her gaze levelly. "Mine, and my son's. It is all in his best interests after all."

"I daresay Thor can decide what his own best interests are. He is the king."

"He is my son first."

She falls silent, but Loki can see her distaste in the set of her mouth. His brother's eyes move between the two of them, flashing like lightning. Thor says nothing, but Loki knows whose side he's on - his brother has spoken often enough and with increasing frustration about their father's inability to put trust in him. After an uncomfortable moment he speaks. "I will summon the generals myself. Let's begin shall we?"

* * *

Though uncomfortable, the meeting does not last long and soon enough Loki finds himself returning to his rooms to pack what little belongings he wants to take onto the battlefield with him. It's over and done with soon enough, and as the hour draws nearer the grounds of the palace fill with soldiers and common folk alike, awaiting the signal to leave.

The squires have gone on ahead to Alfheim to prepare the military camp but the generals have not yet appeared, so Loki takes it upon himself to rally the men. As he appears amongst them they begin to kiss their wives and embrace their children, none of them seeming particularly concerned about the danger. A squire appears with his horse which he mounts, and then surveys the troops. "Formation!"

His command goes answered slower than he would like - it takes several minutes for the soldiers to don their helmets and shields and stand in order. Loki shakes his head in disgust. His own men, stationed across the nine realms know better than to be so lackdaisical by now. He can see Sif and Fandral in the ranks also on horseback, awaiting the king.

Soon enough the generals filtered out, donned their armour and mounted their horses. They each take up their various positions just as Thor appears - mighty and solemn, his red cloak and Loki's green the only splashes of vibrant colour in an otherwise golden army. He looks to Loki and nods imperceptibly.

"Forward!"

The soldiers began their march towards the bifrost, where Heimdall awaits them, and Loki turns back to wait for his brother. He glances over to beckon Thor forward. Odin and Frigga have appeared, watching the proceedings with practiced eyes, and his father glances between both brothers before disappearing back into the palace. His mother approaches and he leans down for her to plant an affectionate kiss to his cheek. "Farewell, my son," she bids him with a smile. "Take care."

He bows his head in respect, "Mother."

Thor is busy - _she_ has finally appeared, with their child in her arms, and Thor bends his head to murmur to the infant. From where he sits on his horse, Loki can hear snatches of their hushed conversation. "... make sure he doesn't?"

She smiles up at him and it turns Loki's stomach. "Of course." With a last kiss to the babe's head, Thor wishes his wife goodbye and presses a kiss to her hair. Loki looks away, and Frigga glances at him before moving towards his brother.

 _She_ steps to the side as Thor and Frigga say their farewells, gently rocking the infant. Her eyes catch Loki's and he notices immediately the tension in their depths.

"Still unworried?" he asks scathingly.

She glares back at him, the worry gone as quickly as it came, and he relishes in her hostility. It's the only part of her has has all for himself. "He'll be back before I notice he's gone."

"Doubtlessly." His eyes darted towards Thor, who is mounting his horse. "No words of farewell for your brother?"

She smiles with false sweetness at him. "None of comfort."

Loki returns the gesture smugly. Flawed and cold though her smile is, it will warm him for days long to come.

* * *

The diamond dangled in the air.

You giggled at your tiny son as he waved clumsy, chubby fists, trying to catch the twinkling gem. Beside you Frigga laughs. "He's growing fast! To think only a year ago he was only a speck." She leans down to dote over her grandson and you smile, sitting back in your armchair.

"He's certainly taken up a lot of space," you say fondly as she lifts Magni into her arms. "Like his father."

Frigga smiles over the child. "Yes, I remember Thor requiring a lot of energy too. Of course he wasn't so fussy about who held him; it was Loki who was the demanding one. He always had his favourites, and anyone else who tried to hold him, well..." She winced.

"He loves you," you say neutrally. It's the closest you'll come to speaking to fondly of him, and only because you don't want to hurt Frigga. She hums.

"And Thor. They've always been inseparable, even as babes. It's a shame Loki's decided to go touring with the military, I always imagined them as a team when Thor took the throne."

"Thor's doing wonderfully," you said lightly.

She smiles at you again. "Yes he is," she agreed. Lifting an elegant hand, she murmured an incantation and the diamond swirled in the air, making Magni squeal in delight. Warmth fills your chest.

Rising from your chair you waver, "I should go and attend to my duties now. There's work to be done..." you look at her apologetically. Frigga is kind and sincere and you don't want her to feel pushed aside. However the older woman arches a brow at you.

"Oh please, my dear, I've retired. It's your turn to do all the heavy lifting now." She waves you away and coos over your son, and you slip away.

Odin may be adamant to rule in Thor's stead but you are still the queen, and you are just as adamant to do your job. Entering your quarters, you shut the doors firmly behind you and take your place behind the desk. Your rooms are different to those which you share with Thor; huge windows look out onto the palace grounds and thin lilac curtains hang in each doorway, letting light seep through each room.

The soldiers have been gone several days, and you know by now what to do to ensure the army is well-fed and supplied. Poring over lists and notes, you quickly write up several instructions and call in a servant. The man bows and awaits your instruction. You place a scroll in his hand, "This is for the kitchens, see that all provisions are packaged and sent to the bifrost ready for transportation. This one," another scroll, "is for the healing wing. We've had a few injured returned to us but there are bound to be more in need on the field - bandages, stretchers, medicines and the like will also need to be made ready. Make sure this one reaches the generals, I need to know if there's a shortage of armour on the field, and this," you give him the smallest and final letter, "is for my husband. See that he gets it."

He bows again and hurries off. The sun burns bright in the midday sky as you relax into the chair, feeling a little lost. Normally when Thor was away you would hold court in his absence, resolve minor issues and confer with diplomats - but now Odin is here and the most you can do is manage the palace's affairs. You sigh in irritation.

A soft thud comes from your sitting room and you turn quickly, peering through the curtains. "Yes?"

No response comes and you rise out of your chair, ready to call guards, when a pair of arms envelope you from behind. "Did I frighten you?" a laughing voice spoke into your ear.

You gasp and whirl around. "Norns - Lorelai!"

The redhead laughs, her hazel eyes sparkling. "Surprise!"

You embrace your old friend warmly, a smile on your face. "What are you doing here?" you asked her in amazement.

Lorelai gestures in the air. "Oh you know, I heard Thor had gone to war and that old man was here so I assumed you'd be wasting away with boredom, and I was right! How fortunate for me!" She grins and you shake your head in amusement. She peers at you. "Aren't you happy to see me?"

"Of course," you said, linking your arm with hers. "I'm just wondering what exactly you have in mind for this visit."

She smiles mischieviously. "Oh nothing much - a few parties, maybe a lover or two?" She laughs as you smack her arm. "No? How about putting lemon in the old goat's tea? You can't deny you'd love to see him splutter on it."

You laugh and instantly feel bad. "Lorelai," you reprimand her, "he's my father-in-law."

"He's the _Allfather_ , it doesn't stop him from being a complete ass. Or, as you called him in your last letter 'a sour old goat.'"

"I never called him that!"

"No - but you wish you had!" The pair of you giggle. Lorelai had been one of Frigga's ladies alongside you before you had married Thor, and she was the only one who continued to treat you as a human being. "So," she pulled you along with her into your sitting room, "how is it, being queen?"

You shrug. "It's fine."

She looked at you closely. "Not taking it's toll yet? Frigga always said it was less glamorous than it looked."

"It's not glamorous," you agreed, "but it's not as difficult as I thought it would be. It's just people that can be hard sometimes."

"What people?" Instantly Lorelai sounds protective, like an elder sister. "Is that bitch Fulla being insufferable still?"

You snorted. Fulla had been another lady-in-waiting, a general's daughter and extravagantly wealthy - as she had not hesitated to remind both you and Syn at every turn. "Fulla's married now too, with twin daughters. She's perfectly civil now."

"Of course she is," Lorelai mutters cynically, making you laugh, "But seriously, what people?"

Sighing, you explained. "Loki's here." She instantly looks at you pityingly. "He's just been... himself. It makes me uncomfortable."

"Have you spoken to Thor?"

"I've tried," you reply tiredly, "but you know Thor; he loves him too much to be harsh with him."

Lorelai sighs too. "You know my brother's been sent to a garrison on Niflheim? It's overseen by Loki, and I hear he's quite severe. My brother says he's a natural killer." A chill goes down your spine and she shrugs. "It's just hearsay, but everyone knows Loki's far from friendly. At least you're not married to him!"

"Ugh," you wrinkled your nose at the thought. "I'd rather be dead." She laughs at your dramatics. "Has your father made you a match yet?" you ask, already knowing the answer.

Lorelai laughs harder. "Freya's tits! A husband! For me!" She wags a jewelled finger at you. "No - I've told father I shall have a thousand and one lovers, and not one less, before he gets rid of me." She rises and extends a milky hand. "Come on, show me this son of yours everyone is talking about."

* * *

Lorelai's presence helped the time go by quickly, and towards the end of the week you received a letter from Thor. It's short and simple; the battle is arduous but not an easy win for the enemy, and he hopes to be home within the month. He sends his love to Magni, and asks you to read him stories from the book Frigga had given him. You do so happily.

It's odd to have this much free time. You make an effort to appear in court for an hour or so every day, if only to keep an eye on Odin, but there's nothing to monitor and most of your days are taken up with your son and friend. You dine with Odin and Frigga every night, and the same day you receive Thor's letter Odin announces he's going to Vanaheim for a brief visit.

"What for?" Frigga asks mildly.

"Trade deals," he tells her, sawing viciously at a piece of beef. The juices run from the meat and trickle across his plate. "Some bloody fool has decided they're being cheated and is proposing to stop sending goods until a better bargain is struck."

You frown. "Should we tell the farmers to start the harvest early, just in case?"

Odin barely looks at you. "No. I will deal with this."

Lips pressed together, you continued to eat. "How long will you be gone?" Frigga questions.

"Until I have succeeded."

"Odin, your health! You're supposed to be resting-"

There's a loud screech as Odin pushes his chair back from the table. "If I need your opinion I will ask for it," he snaps at her. Your jaw drops and Frigga looks stunned as he storms out of the room. Her eyes meet yours across the table, a mixture of anger and humiliation.

After a long silent moment, you push the wine jug across the table. The gesture breaks the tension and she flashes you a fleeting smile. You continue your meal punctuated with polite chitchat, but inside you are relieved. Finally, something to do.

Odin leaves the next day; Frigga wishes him good fortune as if nothing had happened between them. You think the look he sends her is apologetic, but you can never tell with the old king. Dipping your head in a farewell, you watch him ride out of the city before turning back inside with a spring in your step.

* * *

In the Allfather's absence you hold court. You are not Odin or Thor, but nor are you stupid, and though it irritates you to have to set the most important issues aside for Odin's concern you are more than willing to resolve minor disputes among the people.

While hovering in the court under Odin's regency, you had noticed that he tended to favour the military men and distinguished families - many of lower birth had been pushed to the back of the queue, and you gladly listen to them and advise them. One man claimed another had stolen his inheritance; one maid came forward to beg the crown for assistance after the deaths of her parents left her destitute. It's tiring work which takes up your whole morning and most of the afternoon, and you only excuse yourself to feed Magni or to eat a brief meal yourself before resuming. Frigga joins you for a few hours, sitting on the chair just beneath the throne and lending her thoughts when you falter.

It's still strange to sit on Hlidskjalf - not as strange as it had been the first time Thor had left you to oversee matters, but the huge gilded throne is too large and too cold for your liking. It's stranger still to have Frigga sat below you; despite your family ties you have never truly shaken your regard for her as queen, and you happily defer to her when you find yourself at a loss for words.

"Fear not my dear," she assures you over midday meal, gracefully kissing your cheeks, "it gets easier with time." You smile at her, and thank the norns that Thor was raised by her as well as his father. Were it not for Frigga's influence, you are certain he'd be far less compassionate and much more arrogant.

"My father is a great man," he'd told you once. "But he sees people as tools and treats them as such."

In truth you do not envy your husband his role - while you are happy to be of use, the incessant demands, tasks, and questions leave you quite exhausted. You finish late into the evening, pleased that the list of people clamouring to be heard has greatly diminished. "I'll spend tomorrow morning in the study," you tell the einherjar, "please have any documents left there." The row of gold-armoured bodyguards cross their fists across their chests and you dismiss them.

That night you fight to stay awake while you feed Magni, and leave it to his nurses to put him to sleep before collapsing into bed.

The next morning you rise a little earlier than usual, woken by the maid bringing your breakfast into the room. You eat and dress quickly, choosing a gown of flowing sapphire blue, before going to your son. He is delighted when you pick him up, and a pang goes through your chest. "I'm so sorry my darling," you tell him, letting him chew on a fingertip with toothless gums. "I've been so busy! But don't worry," you kiss his rosy cheeks, "you can stay with me today."

You feed him and give him to the nurses to be changed, and then take him down to the gardens for a brief stroll. The palace grounds are quiet since all the soldiers have left, and the pair of you are left alone. The sun is high in the morning sky and a breeze drifts over Asgard. There is colour everywhere; the green of the grass, dots of red and yellow flowers, and you turn along your favourite path that leads to the rose garden. Pink blossoms bloom overhead, shielding you from the sun and you hum contentedly, rocking Magni in your arms softly.

He babbles happily and you reply in kind, until you notice the servants scurrying through the gardens; a telltale sign that the day was beginning.

You return to the nursery and instruct the maids to follow you. The remainder of the morning is spent at your desk, reviewing letters and documents of importance, your son sitting within eyeshot on the floor, playing with his nurses. You wonder idly if he'll begin to crawl soon.

It's not yet lunchtime when you hear the bells begin to toll. Your brow creases and you lower the pen uncertainly.

The bells toll again.

You move from the chair to peer out of the window. Sure enough, the bifrost was in full force, a long line of golden soldiers already pouring into the city. But why? They'd barely been gone ten days. Wrapping a shawl around yourself, you hurry out of the room and into the palace.

As you make your way to the courtyard, many others rush past, evidently also eager to find out the news. Not one of them spoke a word to you. Reaching the doors, you can hear the clinking of armour, the hubbub of voices, and the clipping of horses hooves - yet it is eerily subdued. Stepping out of the palace into the cool air, you notice immediately that many soldiers have returned, their armour still fairly clean.

Craning your neck, you look around for the familiar sight of Thor's golden head, but it eludes you. Someone rushes up behind you, and Frigga's breathless voice comes over your shoulder. "The troops are back early. Where are the boys?"

You begin weaving your way through the growing crowd, people looking away when you looked them in the eye. Somewhere, a woman screams, the sound rising high in the air. It sent an odd, ominous feeling growing in the pit of your stomach. A black shape catches your eye - Loki's horse, looking a little dusty but otherwise fine. The sight soothes you.

If his horse was there then Loki would be close by, and close to Loki would be Thor. You push your way to the horse, and sure enough Loki was stood with his back to you, a circle of wary onlookers around him. His head was bent. Mentally preparing yourself for an interaction with your difficult brother-in-law, you approach him.

"Loki? Where is..."

He was standing in front of a large wooden board. Your voice trails off. The man on it is wearing grey and silver armour and a red cape spills underneath him, but it couldn't be Thor. Your feet move closer. His face is covered with a vivid red cloth, and as you round the body you can see long golden hair, streaming like sunlight underneath.

Your world lurches. You look at Loki. His eyes are reddened.

Opening your mouth - _who is this, what happened, where is Thor, what is going on_ \- the words wouldn't come. The air seemed tight. You walk up the the top of the board, hovering beside the man's face. Or where his face ought to be - the cloth had no ridges and depressions like it should have when thrown over a face. Where was the nose?

You reach out to pull back the fabric, to see whose face belonged to the dead man, when a hand closes around your wrist. Loki shakes his head. You stare at him, uncomprehending. Your fingers felt sticky. Slowly, you turn your hand over. Where you had touched the cloth the skin was wet with red, cold blood. Your heart thunders.

A woman gasps behind you and Loki lets your wrist go, moving to her. You turn too - Frigga is stood there, shawl abandoned on the floor, mouth agape. Water fills her eyes and crashes onto her cheeks as Loki embraces her. You look at the body, and then back to her. Suddenly your head feels horribly light and your mouth tastes like saltwater. Without a word you began to stride back through the crowd, into the palace. The people part for you without a word, their eyes wide in horror.

You have to get back inside, away from them, away from their gazes. Every step is too slow so you speed up, brushing past men, women, children. Inside you don't pause, continuing with your mouth firmly shut all the way back to your chamber. Only once you were inside and had slammed the door do you stop.

The nursemaids looked up in shock, eyes wide, and you point to the door silently. They all hurry out, leaving Magni wriggling on the floor.

The room seems tilted, off-balance. Rushing into your bathroom, you reach the sink just in time to vomit all your breakfast, retching until there is nothing left to give up and then some more. Numbly, you turn on the taps, staring at nothing. It couldn't have been. Surely, it couldn't have been.

It was.

Rinsing your mouth, your hands caught a towel that you brought to your face. It was red.

Your chest is tight, and your lungs aren't working properly - with barely a minute to think you rush back into your room and pick up your son. You bury your face against him, inhaling deeply and he starts to kick and cry.

 _Do you think he'll forget me?_

Horror wells up inside you, matched only by some deep and awful feeling, and then tears are flowing fast down your face - blinding you until you sink to the floor. Gasping, you hold Magni close your chest, near hysterical. Thor was dead.

The world spun sickening until your head careened, and you rise to stumble to the bed, careful not to crush the child before collapsing next to him. Lying against the plush sheets you shut your eyes and sob, clutching your wailing son until darkness overtakes you.

* * *

 **CHAPTER WARNINGS: Character death, mention of gore, violence.**

 **I should warn readers that the story will get darker from here on, but it will not feature non-con or sexual violence.**


	4. Shadows and Lies

When dawn breaks the next day your eyes are sore and scratchy, but dry. Not for lack of grief - you've cried all your tears. You feed Magni at your breast in silence.

Your poor son. Your hands tremble as you adjust the blanket he's wrapped in. Your own father had died as a soldier when you were still a child, a casualty of one of Odin's wars, and your mother always grew teary-eyed thinking about him. You had been too young to understand, but her grief had passed onto you. Silently, you swear it won't be the same for your boy, though he would never know the father that had loved him so dearly.

You allow yourself one last cry, quiet and mournful, before resolving not to let Magni witness your sadness. Any further tears you had would have to be wept in private. He needed you, and for his sake you must be strong.

For hours you simply sit and hold him, your throat too raw to sing. Magni falls asleep anyway, just before breakfast is brought to you. The servant who enters is clad in black, and he bows deeply and respectfully. "Your Grace, the Allfather requests your presence in the Allmother's quarters."

"Thank you." The words are hoarse and robotic.

He pauses at the door. "If I may... my sincerest condolences, Your Grace."

It takes you a painful moment to compose yourself, and you just about manage a nod before the door closes once again. You brush past the tray; the food on it turning your stomach. Moving to your wardrobe you realise that all your clothes are in the bedchamber you share with Thor - _shared_ with Thor. Taking your son, you leave the room and walk numbly along the familiar trail.

Once you reach it however, you falter. You don't want to open the door.

But you must, so you do.

It's exactly the same. Rich burgundy curtains, the ashy remnants of a roaring fire in the hearth - beside the sprawling fur rug, Thor's boots are kicked under the bed and a red tunic is folded atop the chest. It's a terrible room, and you suddenly feel nauseous.

Nonetheless, you set Magni down on the bed carefully and make your way to the armoire. Tears fill your eyes as the familiar smell of Thor's soap washes over you and his clothes assault your eyes; the leather tunic you'd embroidered for him to mark your engagement is the most recently worn and still bears wrinkles.

 _"Do you like it?" you asked anxiously. You'd never made a betrothal gift before, much less made a gift for a prince, and you couldn't help but think he's certainly seen finer. You're hardly a natural seamstress - norns, what if he laughs?_

 _Thor inspected it closely and your heart hammered. He looked up at you with a wonderful, blazing smile. His eyes burn. "I'll wear it every day."_

He had not, obviously, it was a ridiculous thing to promise. But he'd worn it regularly; not a week had gone by without him reaching for it, and you slowly accepted that he truly did like it after all. Unbidden, your fingertips brush over the smooth material. A block rises in your throat and you grab the tunic and rip it from the wardrobe, shoving it deep down into the chest and slamming the lid. You can't bear to look at it.

Breathing heavily, you glance over at Magni. He's still asleep.

Once again you go to the wardrobe. This time you studiously ignore his clothing and rustle through your gowns. Red, cream, blue, red again, purple, gold, navy... "I don't have any black clothes," you say aloud. Of course not.

You call a guard. He averts his eyes when looking at you. "Go to the seamstress and fetch me a black gown." He does as he is told.

Sitting at the dresser, you stare at yourself in the mirror. Your eyes are bloodshot, lips chapped. Your hair is a knotted mess and purple shadows are appearing in the hollows of your cheeks. You look like a dead thing.

Suddenly overcome with the need to look normal - to look like yourself again - you stand and grab the water basin. You scrub your face and brush your hair mercilessly. You pinch your cheeks and line your eyes, dab colour on your lips. When the guard returns with a dress you are practising keeping your expression blank in the mirror. You come close, but your mouth twists downwards every time.

You don the dress; a heavy thing edged with gold thread. It's only once you wear it that you realise with absolute clarity that you are a widow. Your hands tremble again and you clench them closed.

At last you are ready to face the world; or so you think until you open the door and Magni's three nursemaids curtsy low to you. "No," you say automatically, holding your son a little closer. You must look desperate. "I don't need you today, thank you."

They exchange nervous glances. The most senior of the three slowly speaks. "Your Grace, the Allfather recommends-"

"I said no!" The frantic note in your voice surprises you and they each look taken aback. You force yourself to calm down. "Thank you ladies, but as I said, not today." They flee without another word. With a deep breath you begin to walk to Frigga's rooms.

The Allmother's solar is the informal meeting room. It is light and welcoming, but today it feels thick and stifling. The old queen is sat on a chair - pale and thin and all in black, her large eyes are wet. Odin stands behind her, a hand on her shoulder. His face is blank and heavy.

Frigga attempts to smile at you when you enter, and her eyes are so like Thor's that you have to look away. Skirt brushing on the floor, you take the nearest seat. Magni sleeps on, blissfully unaware of his family's heartbreak. "Tea, dear?" She offers, her voice trembling. You shake your head.

The silence goes on and on, none of you willing to speak the awful truth. Frigga begins to weep.

A dark shadow moves in your periphery and you flinch. Loki had made no noise since being there. He goes to Frigga's side and takes her hand, muttering words of comfort to her. At length she nods and dabs at her eyes, her hand tight on his. He returns to his spot.

It seems to break Odin out of his trance. "We know why we're here," he says. His voice is quieter than usual. "You must be wondering how Thor died." Your lungs constrict instantly. You do not want to know. "Yesterday morning, Loki entered his tent. As you know, he often shared it with his friends, the Warriors Three and the Lady Sif. All of them are dead."

You raise your head, mouth agape. All of the Warriors _and_ Lady Sif? Odin continued. "We do not know who the culprit is. So far nobody knows anything and we are still searching. Rest assure, we will find whoever did this."

"Likely assassins," Loki speaks. You look towards him. His face betrays nothing. "We were dealing with magical forces; it is not unthinkable that they sent someone aided by magic to sneak past our defenses and kill Thor."

You close your eyes. "Magic was involved," Odin said flatly. His one eye holds Loki's gaze. "It may well have been assassins. But who and why remains to be seen."

Loki stares back at his father and for the first time he looks unnerved.

You interrupt their silent war, "What does Heimdall say?"

Odin looked back at you. "Nobody can find Heimdall."

Shock runs through you. "What?" you gasp.

"We are looking for him presently."

"But the bifrost-"

"Cannot be utilised, nor should it be," the Allfather says gravely. "Asgard is on lockdown. Trade will continue, but in much smaller measures. We must begin to self-sustain for the foreseeable future."

You stare numbly, politics the furthest thing from your mind. Heimdall gone, Thor's friends slaughtered, and Thor dead by an invisible hand? A hot, burning feeling started in the pit of your stomach. "What happened to his face?"

Odin stops speaking at your interruption. Loki and Frigga look towards you. "What do you mean?" The Allfather asks brusquely.

"What happened-" the feeling is growing, melting through your arms and legs and chest- "what happened to his face?" They say nothing. Dimly, Frigga starts to cry again. You can't stop, the words spilling out. "Someone murdered my husband." You raise your eyes to Odin, full of rage. "They murdered my husband and I want to know how."

"Stop it," he snaps at you, moving to Frigga. Her shoulders are shaking. "We will not think of such things. Thor is dead," he wraps an arm around his wife's shoulders, "and we must all prepare. At midday he will lie in state for people to pay their respects, and five nights hence we will send him to Valhalla." Odin's voice gains strength and conviction. "We are a family. We must stand together."

* * *

Odin is true to his word. At midday, a bier is erected in the throne room with Thor's body upon it. Incense burns in the braziers and garlands of perfumed flowers surround him to hide the smell of death. The aroma is so pungent it makes your eyes burn. He wears a golden mask, crafted by the dwarves of Niflheim into a perfect cold replica of his beloved face.

The line of people queuing to pay their respects is long and quiet. The first day you stand silently beside the bier, murmuring thanks to those who bow and wish good fortune for yourself and your son. Magni does not leave your arms unless it is for Frigga's. You wonder about the families of Sif, Fandral, Volstagg, Hogun, Heimdall. Volstagg had nine children, Hogun two. Sif was an only child. You cannot imagine the grief they are enduring.

You step down from the bier and go to the throne. Odin sits above all, observing the proceedings and acknowledging the mourners who kneel at his feet. "Allfather." He tilts his head towards you. "I would ask your permission in this trying time, to send aid to the families of Thor's friends. They served Asgard well, and died at his side. Their families will suffer."

Odin considers you with a sigh. "Very well."

You thank him and return to your station at Thor's side. That night dinner is brought to your chamber; no doubt the kitchens are busy preparing for the funeral feast. Lorelai sits opposite you - she had insisted on accompanying you, and you suspected it was to try and wheedle you into eating.

She tries to distract you with mindless conversation, but you simply nod or reply shortly. At last, she lapses into silence, eyeing you worriedly as you pick at your plate. "I know it's difficult," she says quietly, for once serious, "but you mustn't neglect yourself. Thor wouldn't want this."

"Thor can't want anything." Your voice breaks a little at the end and you quickly drink from your goblet, washing away the lump in your throat. Magni is in the nursery, but you've got this far without crying, you can continue. "Did you see the mask?"

"I did. It looks very like him."

 _No it doesn't_ , you think. "I keep thinking it's a sick joke," you admit instead. "That he'll come walking back in, still..." Lorelai lays her hand on your arm. "They butchered him," you whisper. You rub your fingertips together. The memory of his blood clinging to them will not go. Suddenly you cannot hold back - your shoulders heave as you cry violently. Instantly Lorelai is at your side, cradling you in her arms, and you cling to her.

"I want to know who did it," you say through tears against her shoulder. "I want to know why."

She shifts a little, and you look up at her. Lorelai's face is uncertain and you frown. "What?" She strokes your hair, eyes flickering about. You pull back. "What is it, Lorelai?"

Uncomfortably, she sits back down and meets your gaze. "There are... rumours, among the soldiers." Your breathing slows. "They say..." she glances at the door before continuing. "They say Loki found him."

Your eardrums thrum. "Yes?"

"They say he was found over Thor with blood on his hands." The two of you stare across the table, one face drawn tight and the other pale. "The soldiers think he did it."

"What soldiers?" you ask faintly.

"My brother, most of the garrison. It's just a rumour, there's no evidence..." You sit back against your chair, staring at the table.

 _Tell me, are you worried for your beloved?_

Dizziness swarms around your head. You do not eat a bite.

* * *

Each day passes much the same. You stand at Thor's side as long as you can, accepting condolences, and at night you collapse into bed to sleep restlessly, before rising to do it all over again. Odin oversees the funeral arrangements, and you do not have the energy to fight him on it.

Four days pass before you can bring yourself to be alone with him. Thor has slowly been paling, the pink of his skin dulling into grey. The evening before his funeral, you go down to the hall where he lies, still in your mourning gown. The palace is quiet and the guards let you through without a word. When empty, the hall seems massive and your husband seems small, lying under huge stone arches, surrounded by flickering braziers.

Hjaldskalf looms overhead, blanketed in shadows. Your eyes linger on it; the throne where your husband had sat. The seat that now belonged to the tiny boy that still nursed at your breast. Just thinking about it fills you with dread, and you push the thought away. Magni was only a child - surely in the meanwhile Odin could resume his duties...

You stare down at that terrible golden mask. If you could only see Thor's eyes one more time. All you wanted to say to him had left your tongue and you struggle to speak. "How could you leave me?" you finally question the corpse. It lies silent. "I don't know what to do, I don't know who to turn to..." The body blurs as tears fill your eyes.

"I'm afraid without you," you whisper. Thor does not reply. You sob beside him, his coldness radiating against you. You do not know how long you are stood there, weeping, but finally your tears slow and cease and your gasps turn to heavy breaths.

You lean down until your face hovers just above his. "I will tell our son about you," you promise. "He'll never forget you. Nobody will. I swear it." You break that final distance to press your lips against the cold gold, resolutely pushing down the bile that rises in your throat when you catch the scent of rotting flesh. The metal warms under your skin.

When you rise again, you catch the sound of muffled footsteps coming down the hall. You glance askance to see Loki's tall form striding towards the bier, his golden helmet tucked under one arm. You freeze, instantly clenching your fists in the folds of your gown. Eyes fixed on Thor, you listen tensely as Loki climbs the steps towards you. He pauses and you can feel him looking at you. "Mourning suits you, my lady." You do not reply.

Loki comes to stand opposite you, a mere metre between yourself and him. Thor's body lies in the middle of that space. He sets his helmet down on the edge of the table, beside his brother's battered. head. Silence passes before he speaks again. "You've been here every day, haven't you? Your loyalty to my brother's corpse is admirable."

The skin on your knuckles goes white. "If only the same could be said for us all." You look at him at last, with hard eyes. "Where have you been?"

He does not bristle at your demanding tone as usual, and it fills you with rage. Loki simply raises a brow. "I'm afraid I've been rather busy searching for the murderer of my dear departed brother."

Without a response, you return your gaze to its previous place. Loki's fingers trace the pattern of Thor's red cloak. "Only a coward could have done such a thing," you say acidly.

"A coward - or someone very clever." You look at him mutely and he continues. "They say the perfect crime is one without a suspect. We don't have one." He does not sound overly saddened.

"Don't we?" Your voice is sharp.

Loki is still staring at his brother's body, with contemplative eyes. "No. I think we will have to look inwards, to our own ranks. I don't know how an assassin could have got past our defences unless they were already inside."

"Or unless they were someone Thor trusted." He says nothing, and you have to blink away the moisture that has accumulated in your eyes before speaking again. "Where were you?"

It does not come as you had intended - more beseeching than accusing. Nonetheless, Loki looks at you in surprise. It takes him a moment to find his tongue. "I... I was busy."

"Busy," you echo. The buzzing that has been steadily in your ears is getting louder again.

"Yes," his voice is testy, "busy." At length, he drops his gaze. You stare at him, the hairs on your neck standing straight and cold. "Whoever did this meant to. The blow... could only have been inflicted by someone who wanted to do so."

"By a natural killer," you say, the words sounding faint in your ears.

Loki's eyes meet yours. They are dark and cold. _My brother_ _says he's a natural killer._ "Yes," he agrees. "A natural killer."

Sudden fear climbs over you; creeping along your arms and twining around your throat. You cover your mouth with your hand as your breath quickens and you bite back sobs of terror. Thor had always been too trusting. How many times had you told him Loki was sly, that nobody knew what he did in those military camps away from Asgard's watch?

 _"Thor," you began, carefully washing the blood out of the cut in his cheek. "This is ridiculous - you could have lost your eye."_

 _"Loki would never," he argued. "We were only having a spat."_

 _"A spat? On the training grounds?" Your voice rose. "For Yggdrasil's sake, you're the king! This is too close to a real injury!"_ _Thor rolled his eyes and your jaw clenched. You did not often speak of Loki, or his dark moods since your wedding not a year past. When you did it was because he provoked you into it. "I'm only saying, you should watch yourself around him," you muttered. You dab ointment onto the deep gouge. "He's envious of your station."_

 _"He'll get over it," Thor said bluntly. "He's still my brother, king or not. I love him no less than I did before."_

Something touches your elbow and you jump. Loki is at your side now, watching you. "You should rest," he says. "I'll walk you to your chamber."

With a deep breath you school your features. _I am a woman now_. Long gone are the days when he had the power to leave you crying after him in a courtyard. _I am a wife, a mother, and a queen. I am not afraid of him._ You shook your head. "No. I'm fine." He seems taller, towering over his brother's corpse. The hand on your elbow is long-fingered and graceful, and you move out of his reach.

"I truly think-"

"I don't want you anywhere near me," you hiss. Loki stops. The fear in you is overcome by your anger. It chokes you, clouds your eyes. "How could you?" you whisper. "How could you do it?"

Loki steps back. "What are you saying?" he demands, voice low.

"You know what exactly what I'm saying."

The pair of you stand, glaring at each other. Loki gathers himself with obvious effort, clasping his hands behind his back. He speaks slowly with forced gentleness. "You've suffered a great loss... no doubt grief is clouding your judgement. So this time I will not take your words to heart. And-" his eyes narrow- "nor will anyone else. Go and rest."

You smile for the first time in days, a snarling curve of your lip. "You think I'm alone in knowing this? Your own men-" you step closer to him, eyes fixed- "believe it. And why shouldn't they? You've always been jealous of him."

"Was." His correction is cold. He turns back to Thor's body. "Now if you don't mind, I'd like a moment alone with my brother."

Hesitant to leave Thor alone with him, you linger on the spot, watching him. Loki does not look at you but snaps over his shoulder. "It's not as though anything else can hurt him now."

The truth in his words stings. With a deep breath you slowly descend the bier, crossing the hall to return to your rooms. Just before you do, Loki speaks again. "One more thing. Father wants to speak with you. He's in his study."

* * *

You go straight to the study. You are tired and your feet ache - you want nothing more than to fall into bed. Odin and Frigga are waiting, and you do not sit. "You wanted to see me?"

Odin looks up from where he sits at the circular table beside Frigga. "In a moment." He continues to write. After a long few moments, you sigh and cross to sit opposite the Allmother. She is dressed in muted black, hands folded in her lap. She does not meet your eye. Odin is still writing.

Finally he stops, setting the quill down. The clock ticks and the fire in the hearth crackles. You flex your ankles surreptitiously. Norns, you just wanted to sleep.

He sighs in irritation and you glance at him. He looks at you and frowns. "How are you? I hear you're not eating properly."

Your brows raise. "I didn't realise my well-being was of great importance right now."

"You are mother to the crown prince. It is of paramount importance," he says brusquely. You look to Frigga for a hint of what in the nine he is talking about. She continues to stare at her hands.

"Why?"

Odin glances at the door and sets his mouth. "There's no point waiting, I assume Loki has decided not to come." He looks at you. You wait. "So be it. I want you to marry Loki. Do you agree?"

Blankly, you stare at him. Then a forced laugh escapes you. Surely he must be joking? Again, you look to Frigga. Now she is looking at you, and she looks guilty. The laughter dies. "You cannot be serious," you say.

"I am utterly serious," the Allfather replies curtly. "Do you agree?"

A request from Odin is never a request. It is always a command. "Absolutely not." Frigga closes her eyes briefly. Before he can speak however, the door opens. All three of you turn to see Loki entering. His gaze crosses the scene.

"Finally," Odin's voice is disapproving. "Sit. I've already told her."

Your head turns between the two. "You knew about this?" you demand as Loki lowers himself into the seat beside you. He does not respond.

"It doesn't matter what he knows, the fact remains. You will marry Loki and continue as you were, for the safety and security of this kingdom. Do you understand?"

Odin watches you expectantly. Loki does not move. At long last, you find your tongue. "I will not."

A frown grows across the Allfather's face and he leans forward. "You must consider your position..."

"I will _not_ ," you say louder, "marry that man - the man who _murdered my husband_!"

Loki slams his hands on the table, "I did no such thing!"

"Liar!" You hiss back.

"Silence!" Odin barked. "Both of you."

Loki snapped his mouth shut again, his face angry. But Odin is not your father, and you are not cowed by him. "No. How dare you... Thor is not even in his grave, and you want me to marry another man? As though he never existed? What kind of father are you?"

"One who does what is necessary," he snaps. "Your son is next in line to the throne but it will be years before he is ready. Loki is a man grown and Thor's brother; he knows what needs to be done."

"I know what needs to be done," you argued.

"Foolish girl." Odin's voice holds no shame, only irritation. "This family is a dynasty that has lasted thousands of years; I will not allow its fate to fall into the hands of an outsider, nor will I endanger it when there is such an easy solution. You will marry Loki and keep your peace, and my family will remain in power. Together, you and Loki will raise the boy to know where his loyalties lie and what is expected of him. When the time comes, he will be well prepared. Do you understand?"

Shaking your head, you rise from the table. Odin watches you coldly. "And what of Thor? What of his wishes?"

"He left no will," Frigga speaks quietly. "There is no precedent for this... It is the simplest solution."

You said nothing.

Odin speaks again. "There are those among the court - and I imagine the people too - who do not have the patience to wait under a regency for a child to grow." He watched you with hard eyes. "Such people have begun to question whether it is not simpler to bypass the boy in favour of a grown man, and I cannot say I do not see their point."

Fear begins to gnaw at your lungs. "If you think for one moment," you reply shakily, "that I will allow my son to be disinherited, cast aside, you are very much mistaken."

"And then what? You'd go to war against Loki?" Odin scoffs. "We don't need a seer to know the outcome of that." The unsaid hangs in the air. You glanced at Loki, whose tense shoulders belied his concentration on the conversation. He does not say a word. Odin examines you closely before sitting back in his chair. "Perhaps you need to sleep on it. Tomorrow, I will hear your answer - and I expect it to be sensible."

* * *

That night you lie staring at the canopy of your bed. Magni sleeps tucked into your side, and the warmth of his little body scares you as much as it comforts you. Odin's words echo in your ears. Would Loki be willing to start a war to overthrow a child? Your stomach twists. If Loki decided to battle over his lineage then your son would surely lose, and then...

A chill runs over you. The thought of your own death was disturbing, but your young, sweet boy... How much innocent blood was spilled in the name of power? It didn't bear to think about.

Thor's absence is a physical pain. You need him now, need his strength.

But he is gone, and you are alone. You curl your body around your son. He is all you have now; you must protect him.


	5. World on Fire

**Hm, I'm not really happy with the way this chapter turned out, but it is important to the story.** **No warnings for this chapter.**

* * *

The day of Thor's funeral is grey and overcast; a fitting atmosphere, you think while dressing. It is a long day with much to be done.

You spend the morning going over the procession: the route, the security, the rituals. Noon holds the final fitting for your funeral gown - the widow of a dead king must look the part. Lunch comes late, and Lorelai forces you to eat more than you would have chosen. There is concern in her eyes, but you can barely look at her. Odin's demands hang over you and weigh you down - you cannot think straight. Finally the meal is over and you go to the chambers you once shared with Thor.

Once there you pick many things, a handful of servants swiftly following your orders. Clothing, keepsakes, jewellery, little pieces here and there... All are to go onto the boat to be sent to Valhalla with him. The red tunic goes, as does the rich red bedspread, a bottle of fine perfume he had brought you for yule joins them. The process is cleansing, and when the room is nearly fully stripped you feel almost like a weight has been lifted.

It's an illusion - but one you let yourself believe in for a few moments, before returning to the crushing sadness of reality.

The servants follow you down to the antechamber where Thor lies. The bier has been taken down and the boat has been crafted. He lies in the middle, still surrounded by flowers. His skin is deathly white. "Leave me," you tell the servants. Your hands are numb. "I will prepare the boat myself."

They do as you say, and back out of the room. When the door is closed, you cross to the boxes and begin the process of loading the boat with funeral goods. His boat is truly beautiful; evidently handmade and oiled to a pristine shine, the deep wooden oak holds all without even a creak of protest. You stack the items slowly around him as the sun slowly begins to descend in the sky.

Once you have finished, you stand back. The boat is huge - even all the possessions from your rooms do not fill it. You know that once it reaches the waters at Asgard's shores tonight, it will be brimming with gifts; tokens from the people who loved Thor so dearly.

Moisture gathers in your eyes, when you hear the door gently move behind you. You turn to see Frigga, standing with her arms overflowing with items. She smiles at you weakly. "Some things from his childhood," she says quietly.

You step back to allow her to add them to the pile; a small pair of woolly boots catch your eye and the tears in your eyes spill. You brush them away hastily. Frigga's hands are gentle and tender as she tucks the keepsakes into the corners, and her fingers seem reluctant to release a small soft animal. She lingers, holding it uncertainly.

Respectfully, you volunteer a solution. "Perhaps Magni could use that."

The relief in the old queen's frame is evident, and she holds the small toy with steadier hands. "A wonderful idea," she agrees. You smile, and turn to leave when she speaks again. "Have you decided yet?"

Your shoulders sag. Of course she knows. "No."

"Sweet one," Frigga's voice is quiet. She is braiding a thin strand of Thor's hair, combed to be made presentable. "I know you miss him, I do. We all share your pain." Suddenly you feel selfish for being so consumed by your own grief when Thor's mother stands right in front of you. "We loved him, and nobody will ever forget him," you look at her and see the wetness in your own eyes reflected in hers. "But my dear, he is gone. And you have a son who needs you." She clips a small hair bead onto the end of the braid before neatly cutting it and beading the other end.

"I fail to see how this helps my son," you reply, but your voice is weak.

She cocks her head and shifts closer to you, Thor's braid cradled in her hands. "Your own mother has given her blessing." Your eyes widen. They had involved your mother? Frigga holds up her hands when she sees your expression. "She came here by her own admission, to assist you in your time of grief."

Your voice cracks with anger, "This is completely unacceptable-" your mind spins; your mother has not been well, she hates court life - "who spoke to her? Odin?" the bitterness in your tone is evident. The thought of the old man bullying your poor mother makes you feel sick.

Frigga looks taken aback. "It was only for your own peace of mind. The future is long and uncertain. It is hardly a burden we can expect you to carry alone my dear... Think of your own well-being." You say nothing. Her blue eyes are soft. They remind you of Thor. "This arrangement solves everything; your burden will be lifted, the kingdom will have stability, and your son will have a father." Your lip curls. "He can have a childhood, guidance and time, surrounded by his family. Don't you want the best for him?"

The insinuation stings. You draw away. "Of course I do," you reply immediately. "But..." The words do not come. She waits patiently, but you cannot bring yourself to air your suspicions to her. How do you tell a mother about to bury her child that her other, sole surviving child is the cause of her sorrow? Slowly, you begin to accept defeat.

Frigga senses it. She lays a gentle hand on your shoulder as you speak. "Did Odin tell you to say this?"

Despite your accusation, she smiles gently. "Whatever my reasons, my words are sincere. This family cannot afford a war with itself. The casualties would be too great." She presses the toy into your palm; the softness of it warms your fingers. "We must get ready," Frigga looks towards the windows. The sun is low in the sky. "It is time." With a kiss to your cheek, she leaves you there.

* * *

When you return to your rooms to change, your mother is waiting for you. Her small frame fills you with a deceptive sense of security, and you bury yourself into her embrace. Allowing yourself to weep, she hushes you. "Oh my poor daughter..." She pulls back to look at you fretfully and you see her hair is starting to grey. The thought of Odin involving her in his schemes fills you with renewed anger.

With difficulty, you stand tall again. "I'm sorry mother - truly, I'm fine, I will be fine..."

"It is a hard thing to lose someone so young," she says sadly. "I never imagined you would have to endure it." She takes your hands in hers; yours are larger but she feels solid as a rock. "He was a good man, a kind man. Thor would not want you to suffer so."

You nod in agreement. "But I cannot be blamed for crying."

Your mother sighs. "No, you cannot." The two of you sit on your couch in comfortable silence. "I've seen my grandson," she tells you. "He is strong, like his parents."

The thought of Magni makes you sick with worry now that you must consider that there are those who would harm him. You force a smile, "Yes, he is." Examining her closely, you take note of fresh lines on her forehead and the paleness of her cheeks. "Mother, you did not have to come. I know how you dislike all this."

She shakes her head obstinately, "Of course I'm here, you need me." You do not deny it. "I can't promise that I'll stay long, but I will be at your side in this."

You give a small smile. "How is the village? The farm?" As recompense for the frequent deaths of their soldiers, the royal family gave bereaved families something to sustain themselves with. The modest farmstead where your mother spent her time was what she had received. A thought occurs to you and you frown. "Are you still being given extra aid?"

When you had married Thor you had asked that he allot her a small sum every month, to help with the maintenance and running of her home. As a child you had never gone without food, but only because she struggled - selling scarves and socks in the market, cleaning people's homes, and raising a child alongside chickens and cows had been hard work. It had delighted you when you were finally able to repay her and ease her burden.

Thor had rode out personally to see where you grew up, and sometimes even delivered her special wines and meats from the capital. Every year, he had inflated the money sent to her. When she had begun to protest the extravagance, he only argued back. _A small price to repay for your husband's sacrifice,_ he had told her. _Too often our wars leave behind widows and starving children. The crown should be held accountable._

"I've not yet, but it's no matter," she says, "Young Sigurd, the farmhand I hired to work the field, lodges with me now."

You shake your head angrily. "But it's the principle of the thing, mother. You're the queen's mother - the crown prince's grandmother." She sighs and you swallow down your ire. It rattles you that Frigga can live in silks and satins, mistress of a grand palace with too many rooms and servants abound without ever having to doubt whether she deserves it, but your mother relies on the charity of Odin to simply hire helpers and run a two-bedroom house.

Thor would never have let this happen, you think. "I will fix this," you assure her. She looks tired of the conversation already, and you quickly let it drop. She has never understood your love for the city and the palace - the gossip, the parties, the politics, the people; it all thrills and entertains you. You love the busyness. Your mother only finds it overwhelming and intimidating.

Gratitude for her presence washes over you again, and suddenly you miss her even though she is beside you. "I would like to see it again," you say wistfully. Your mouth twists downwards and she brushes hair from your face. "You are young," she says tenderly, "There will be time enough for such things."

Time has become a depressing concept to you and you seek to change the subject. "I hear Odin spoke with you."

"Yes." She falters, looking unsure. "He wanted my opinion on your wellbeing."

Your fingers curl, "And your cooperation in bullying me into his ridiculous demands."

Her teeth worry the edge of her lip. "Don't be angry with me... it would pain me to see you grow old all alone, to see my grandson without a father. I only wish for your happiness."

"I could _never_ be happy with a man like Loki," you state emphatically. She blinks at you sadly, and she looks so vulnerable. Like your son, she is ignorant to the intricacies of the world. Abruptly, the fear is back, and you seize her hand. "Mother, I think... I think he killed Thor."

Her eyes widen. She looks around nervously. "That's absurd... he's his brother."

"He hated Thor! He was always-"

She shushes you frantically. "No more - you must not speak of such things!" There is clear fright in her voice and she is even paler now. "I did not raise you to spread such lies."

Indignation flares in your chest and you clutch her hand. "But it's not a lie! Everyone says-"

"Enough, please! Enough!" Her breath catches in her chest and she wheezes rapidly. You quickly rise and fetch her a glass of water from the jug on your table. She drinks it hurriedly. Once her breathing is even again, she deflates. You stay quiet. Finally she speaks again. "Listen to me. You are in an uniquely difficult position. I cannot tell you what to do, I don't know myself. But you are a mother now - whatever actions you take, you must consider Magni."

"I am," you whisper despairingly. Your mother closes her eyes heavily and pets your cheek. When she opens them again you know she has no answers for you. She opens her arms in a silent gesture of comfort and you lean into her embrace, desperately seeking shelter from the terrible decision you must make.

* * *

The procession begins at sundown. People line the torchlit streets in silent crowds, holding small things to place onto the funeral boat as it passes, lifted on the shoulders of Thor's generals. The royal family follows behind, stone-faced. Odin leads the way, Frigga at his side. You come next, Magni in your arms, and Loki is behind you. The boats bearing the corpses of Sif and the Warriors Three take up the rear. The quiet cries of the youngest of Volstagg's children echo through the streets.

The path along the procession is long and bleak - the streets have been swept clean, and people watch from windows and doorways as their king passes through them one last time. Some crane their necks to get a good look. You are grateful for your mourning veil; the thick black lace shields you from their prying stares. By the time the boat reaches Asgard's shores your feet are numb from the walk and there are throngs of citizens behind you. They gather on the beach and cliffs to watch the ceremony begin.

You shuffle into place, between your mother and Frigga in the wide semi-circle around Thor's boat. The sun disappears beneath the horizon as soldiers light huge bonfires along the shoreline, and the glow of thousands of tiny floating orbs speckle from coast to coast. A breeze picks up, and your veil stirs in the air. Magni is fussing, drawing some attention and you whisper to him, pleading for him to stay behaved just a little longer.

Mercifully, he quietens as you bounce him in your arms.

As the sky darkens from blue to black, Odin stands on the outcrop of the beach beside the boat which is fixed to the shore via a thick rope. As you had predicted, it is filled to bursting with mementos and honours from the asgardian people. The tears that prick your eyes are not wholly sad; the display of Thor's popularity moves you more than you had expected and it fills you with pride for the man who had been your husband.

Odin turns and bring gungnir down onto the ground. A hush falls over the city.

"We gather here this night to witness the passing of a good man into Valhalla," he starts. "You knew him as your king, and he served you well." Murmurs of agreement rise into the air and somewhere, someone cheers; an oddly uplifting moment on an otherwise somber occasion, "The love he held for every one of you was a testament to his nobility, his strength, and his duty. But Thor was more than a king." Odin falters. His face glazes over. "He was a husband, a father, a son. My son-" his voice breaks suddenly and you recognise the gleam of tears in the stern blue of his faded eyes. It makes you uncomfortable to see the Allfather, a man usually unbearable high and proud, display such emotion. He clears his throat and continues. His voice has regained its strength. "My son. My first boy and my greatest achievement, do not dishonour his memory. Remember him with pride, with awe. He deserves no less."

He turns to the boat and climbs the few steps into it. The high priest of the Norns follows close behind. Odin places a hand on Thor's forehead, his back to the crowd, before he turns away and leaves the boat to take his place at the beginning of the semi-circle.

Frigga steps forwards, her frame unbearably delicate as she traces his footsteps. Once she comes to her son's body she leans down and kisses his golden forehead. She stands there for a long moment, speaking so softly and quietly that nobody can hear her. Nobody wants to; it's a private moment, and she kisses Thor gently once more before eventually returning to shore.

Now it is your turn, and your mother takes Magni from you before you also go forward. You have decided that you didn't want him to be much a part of the funeral rites; he was too young to understand, and in truth you didn't want him to. Not you step into the boat the priest bows as per the ritual, and you nod to acknowledge his authority over matters of death. In the corner of your eye you can see the people watching - but there are so many that they all blur into a meaningless mass and become easy to ignore. With a deep breath you reach down and take a strand of Thor's hair. Your fingers work quickly to plait and tie the braid, and the priest hands you a small knife.

The metal slices through the silken strands as if they were butter and you step back, holding the braid tightly in your fingers. You take a moment - closing your eyes, you soak in the absurd peace of the moment. Then you open them. You have nothing to say to Thor; all you've said you already have, and he will not reply. You return to your place, and Magni is placed back into your arms.

Loki is last to go forward. A strange feeling settles over you; all of Asgard is watching closely, and the air thrums with taut expectation. Loki barely looks at his brother - he goes straight to the priest and they converse lowly. The priest nods, and waves a hand. Then Thor's generals step forward and also board the boat. You can hear people whisper as they gather and then lift Thor's corpse.

You gasp. It is only a quick thing, and Loki lingers for a moment beside his brother.

Then he turns and you see the cause of the disruption. In his hands, Loki holds Thor's red cloak. Your heart lurches and your blood roars; you don't even notice that you've stepped forward until your mother grabs your arm and pulls you back. She shakes her head desperately and you breathe heavily. You can see in her eyes that she remembers what you said to her earlier. You stare at Loki, at the thing he holds. _A trophy_ , you think, feeling sick. _A celebration of his greatest kill._

Just as Loki disembarks from the boat, someone cries out from the crowd.

"Murderer! Traitor!"

You hear Frigga gasp beside you and she clutches onto Odin with a vice-like grip. He strikes the ground with gungnir, "Silence!"

Begrudgingly the crowd settles again as Loki steps back into the semi-circle. Sideways, you glance at him from under your lashes. His face is still and undisturbed, and he turns his head ever so slightly to look you directly in the eye. In that moment you know, if it were not for Magni you would have thrown yourself at him, spitting poison and raking your nails across his eyes. Instead you only hold his stare, trying to tell him that you _know_.

His gaze moves back to the proceedings. Along the beach, the families of those who are also being sent to Valhalla say their own speeches and pay their own respects. You can hear weeping.

Finally the high priest leaves the boat to stands at the very edge of the water. He raises his hands high. "It is time! Our ancestors call their children, and the Norns have cut their threads." Behind him Thor's boat is untied, and Odin walks forward with a bow in hand. As the boat bobs forth, Sif's and the Warriors Three's funeral barges are also set afloat; after them the boats for the soldiers who had died on the battlefield. They follow their king as faithfully in death as they had in life.

Odin lights an arrow in one of the bonfires - he aims it high and squints. It soars through the air in a wide arc; bright against the night sky until it lands with a soft thud on Thor's boat.

The priest begins the prayer. "Lo, There do I see my Father..." All of Asgard joins his words, their voices shaping into one. It echoes through the city and rolls over the hills as Thor's boat nears the edge of the great waterfall, the blaze shining in the water.

You whisper the last words as the barge tips over the edge, and you watch as golden vapour ascends into the air,"...rejoice, for those who have died the glorious death." Thousands of tiny balls of light rise to join Thor's spirit, followed by those of his comrades, and your eyes are wet as you watch the final vestige of your husband drift high and out of sight, to enter Valhalla.

At length, people begin to disperse, although you can see the families of the slain hang back. Loki stays on the beach when Frigga asks him to return to the palace.

Oddly, it is only during the walk back that you feel everyone's attention. They all turn to watch you, whisper and mumur. Some eyes are full of pity, others curiousity. You follow close behind the Allmother and Allfather.

You are almost home when someone taps you. It's a middle-aged woman, short and dark-haired. "Can we see him?" she asks. You blink in confusion until you realise her eyes are on Magni. You clutch him.

"Aye let us see him." Someone else steps closer and you abruptly continue walking.

But the crowd is stirring and you are tapped and waved at many more times. Frigga quickly wraps a protective arm around your shoulders.

"Let us see the prince!"

"Let us see Thor's son!"

Only when you are back inside, safely ensconced in your rooms, do you ease your grip. Your hands are shaking and you stare down at Magni. The babe stares back at you widely, and you bring him to your neck to hug.

* * *

You go straight from the nursery to the solar. Odin is alone - he pays attention when you enter.

"Very well." You can scarcely believe the words you are saying.

The old man doesn't look surprised. He lowers his quill and looks down his nose at you; quite a feat since he is sitting and you are standing. But you are not finished.

"I have one condition."

Odin glowers. "Who are you to ask favours of me, girl?"

"Your son's widow and the mother of your heir," you shot back, unrelenting. The old king's lips press into a hard line and you take that as a sign to continue. If you're going to be bullied into something it will be on your own terms. "I want you to continue to send my mother an allowance every month, just as Thor did. She has every right to it."

He scoffs. "A waste of funds, but very well. However," Odin leans forward. "Now you've given your consent I will make some things clear. This marriage is for the family; you will do your duty to it. You will smile in public, you will support Loki in public, you will cease to wear black, and any suspicions you may have regarding the manner of my son's death, however... understandable... must never be made public. Do you understand?"

You nod curtly even as fury runs through your veins. Odin sits back in his chair, pleased. He begins to write again - a sure cue for you to leave, but there's one last thing you must ask of him.

"Do you believe it?"

He does not raise his grey head. "Believe what?" he questions briskly.

"You know what," you whisper.

Still, Odin does not look at you - but you notice he's stopped writing. His fingers are tight on the quill. "I raised my sons," he says quietly. "I know the kind of men they are. I know what they're capable of."

You swallow in despair. "So why are you making me do this?"

"I told you. I will not endanger the legacy of this family." You stand in silence. There's no point in demanding further answers from him now; you know that is the cold and simple truth. Slowly, he begins to write again and you move to leave.

When your hand touches the door however, Odin calls your name. "Do not think I am ungrateful." He raises his head. His one eye is uneasy, and it strikes you that this is the first time he'd looked at you without either indifference or annoyance. "I would advise you to be wary. These are dark times."

* * *

The engagement is announced on the final day of funeral feasting. Odin sugarcoats it with words of loyalty and family, compassion and selflessness. After, people clap, but it is lukewarm and you hope for a moment that someone will step forward and challenge it. Nobody does.

* * *

 **And there we have it, Reader's made her decision. You may have noticed the line of the prayer which Reader says is identical to the prayer Thor (and Loki) recite in Thor: Ragnarok - I researched and it's actually based off an old viking prayer for the dead! Next chapter will be the wedding, and it looks like it'll be a long one. Thanks for reading!**


	6. The Blackest Day

**6k words! Jesus!**

 **This is the wedding chapter, but the vows and rites aren't historically based as there's so little to go off on ancient norse wedding customs, so I pretty much just tried to do an Asgardian wedding that fits the feel and the culture.**

 **No warnings for this chapter - without further ado, keep reading...**

* * *

Three months. That is all the time you have to prepare.

In the first month you wake every day with a horrible jolt at the empty space beside you, but gradually your tears stop coming so often. You learn how to accept the reality of a world without Thor in it; your quarters become familiar to you, the black gowns become less jarring. Magni gets into the habit of attempting to pull himself up on sturdy little legs and stand. It is a consolation to you that he's learning; at almost a year old you had begun to worry about his development, although Eir assured you it was perfectly normal for children to do things at their own pace.

A great statue of Thor is erected along the public gallery in front of the palace. It soothes you more than it saddens you; people applaud the fine work and you can hear conversations reminiscing how about great a man he'd been. You grow to accept their condolences with genuine gratitude. Loki does not attend.

In the second month, you decide it best to start weaning Magni off your breast, though you are in no rush. But you don't want him to grow up overly attached to you and behind other children. You may miss your husband, but it will not stop you from being a mother - you will raise your son into a king his father would have been proud of. Nonetheless, despite the constant worry and supervision that needs to be done, it is a relief - a distraction from what is to come. You dismiss one of the nursemaids - three was truly too much, and you suspect that once Loki is your husband you would not have as many duties as you'd had previously and too much time.

You can't decide whether the thought irks you or not.

Something that has not become less shocking over the weeks is Loki sat at your side instead of Thor. It's wrong - deeply wrong, and during feast days you rush to finish as much of your meal as you can stomach so that you can leave the hall. He rarely speaks to you, and when he does he's cold and formal. You're glad of it.

Once, just once, he lays his hand against the small of your back. The gesture makes you flinch. You rise from the table and leave immediately.

By the third, summer is underway; the sky is bright and the grass is green, and you take Magni outside often to play with other children. Something about it makes you sad, but you force it down and carry on. Lorelai and mother have both stayed with you and you are ever-grateful for them. You begin to smile again, and Lorelai even makes you laugh once or twice. But you can see the toll it takes on your mother, and you know once you are remarried she will leave.

The thought fills you with unease. On the first day of the month Frigga comes to you with a team of seamstresses. They present rolls and rolls of fabrics in every material and colour; velvet and satin and lace, blue and white and pink. You don't particularly care. When you'd married Thor your gown had been cloth-of-gold stitched with pearls, and you'd worn dainty slippers. His tunic had been cloth-of-gold too, and you'd thought he was the finest man you had ever seen. Not once had he stopped smiling during the ceremony.

"Dearest?" Frigga's voice pulls you from your thoughts. "You really ought to pick something today, just to narrow it down." She doesn't say what she means - there is not long now. Bored, you examine the array. You pick a grey silk so light it's almost ivory.

The seamstress claps excitedly. "A wonderful choice!" Your lips thin at her enthusiasm. She shuffles through a few more pieces of material and pulls out a square of pale, spidery gold tulle. "May I suggest this as an overlay?"

"Fine," you snap.

She wavers only briefly before signing to her helpers and bowing to both you and Frigga. The team leave the room with hushed whispers. Once the doors close, Frigga turns to you. She is always kind, but she carries a newfound quietness now. You'd taken to inviting her to the gardens often, which she sometimes accepts, but she never stays long. Sometimes you think she is the only other person who truly feels Thor's loss.

"I'm sorry," you say to her.

She doesn't admonish you, only lays her hand over yours.

* * *

Your sour mood continues to build, and within a week you become so resentful that Lorelai tells you to get a hold of yourself. "I can't help it," you defend yourself, hurt. "This isn't a celebration, it's a death sentence. And I'm supposed to smile and chatter and tell everyone how happy I am? It's a sham."

One day you're on your way back from the nursery when a commotion draws your attention. Wandering to its source, you're confronted with the sight of Thor's chamber door wide open and a steady flow of workmen carrying out the furniture. Hesitantly, you step inside. Loki stands at a table in the centre of the room, pointing down at a large drawing alongside a stonemason. He glances up when you enter.

"What..." You take in the empty space. "What are you doing?"

The look he sends you is guarded. "These are my rooms now."

Your chest is tight the stonemason lifts a hammer. He swings it into the wall that connects the antechamber to the bedroom. The rock crumbles to the ground in clouds of white dust. You flinch. This had been Thor's room as long as you could remember - you had slept beside him almost every night here. The sight of Loki destroying that intimate, precious space and reforming it to suit himself turns your knuckles white. "But..."

"Yes?" Loki arches a brow at you.

The words come unsteadily, "This is Thor's room."

"Well he can hardly use it now, can he?"

You don't trust yourself to speak - instead you turn and slam the door.

The closer the wedding date draws, the more often Odin holds feasts. "To give the people something to look forward to," he tells you when you complain about the festivities. Sure enough, the people begin to warm to the idea. There are toasts aplenty and excited discussions, and you are questioned about everything; the dress, the cake, the season, the vows. While you answer them all politely, you cannot feign interest. It stings that they seem to have forgotten already whose wife you truly are. Loki is hounded less - it is evident that even with their good cheer the citizens are still wary of him.

"Are you looking forward, my lord?" one particularly brave man asks one night.

His answer is fluid and easy. "Very much so." You don't know why he bothers lying. You're almost finished with your plate when he speaks again, lowering his voice to an intimate level in your ear. "Father is considering combining the wedding with my coronation. What do you think?"

"Fine."

Loki tilts his head closer, so that his hair brushes against yours. "If you'd rather have a whole day, I can-"

You lean away from him, "I said it's fine."

His voice is sharp. "You could at least pretend to care."

"Don't tell me what to do," you warn him through gritted teeth.

"I wouldn't have to if you would just _try_ to be happy."

You turn to him sharply, rage simmering in your veins. "Happy about what? You know full well I don't want to do this."

"Why not?" he demands. His eyes lock onto yours with his next words, "Is it really so terrible to be mine?"

"I will _never_ be yours."

Loki's face goes bone white and there's a deafening screech as he shoves his chair back. He storms out. You lower the fork in your hand. It's shaking. The feasting hall is silent and blood rushes to your cheeks as you realise everyone is staring. Slowly, with as much grace as you can muster, you also rise and leave the hall.

Your feet get as far as the end of corridor when Odin's voice rings out. "Stop!" His words are furious. "Come with me; _now_."

Count to three. Breathe in, breathe out. You turn and follow him.

When you reach the solar Frigga and Loki are waiting. Frigga is seated. She's staring down at her hands blankly, as she so often does now. Odin paces in front of the fireplace and you stand with arms folded in silence. Your lip trembles and you bite it, hard. Finally Odin turns, and his voice is strained with barely-controlled anger. "What was _that_?" he spits. Your nails dig into your skin. "You're a prince, Loki - you should know better by now! Have you learned nothing!"

"Father I-"

"Be silent! And you," he jabs a finger at you, "should remember the deal we struck!"

"I don't care!" The words flood from your lips loudly and angrily; you can't do it, you can't stand a lifetime of _this_. "I won't do it! Why can't he marry someone else, why does it have to be _me_?"

Odin slams a hand on the table hard; Frigga jumps. You can't see Loki but you can feel the cold rage emanating from him. "Are you dim, girl!" Odin bellows. "Do you want to see this kingdom plunged into civil war when there are two firstborn heirs? If you were my daughter I'd have you whipped!"

"But I'm not!" Your voice matches his. "You can't make me do anything I don't want to - I'd rather face a war, anything, _anything_ but marry him!"

"You selfish, wilful woman!" the Allfather roars. "I let you marry my son; my first son, my _finest_ son-" Loki makes a small, hateful noise- "and then I offer you another and you spit on me. _Who do you think you are_!" He's in your face now, tall and broad and terrifying. You have to fight to keep your spine straight and you chin high.

"I don't care what you say, I won't do it! I refuse to let my son be raised by _that_ _man_ ; I'll take a holy vow or I'll go home, but I will _not_ let my son be raised by his father's murderer."

Odin's one eye is impossibly bright. He reels back and for a moment you think you've done it. Then his voice is calmer, more dangerous. "Fine," he says icily. "Go home, back to your peasant village. But my grandson will stay here and you will never see him again."

Somewhere beside you Frigga gasps, "Odin..."

Your vision swims. "That's absurd. You can't do that." Your heart ached; where was Thor when you needed him? He would never ever have let any of this happen. For the first time you feel a flicker of anger towards you deceased husband.

"I'm the Allfather," Odin says bluntly. "I can - and you know damn well that I will. It would be easier with your cooperation, but if you insist on this defiance then I'll take the boy and raise him myself."

Never have you wanted to hit someone so much. "I swear to the Norns," you hiss, "I swear by the Nine, I will _die_ before I let that happen."

He narrows his eye. You could stab that eye out, and give him a matching set. "You won't die," he snaps. "But you will marry my son. Do you understand?" There's a noise as the door shuts and you realise Frigga has left the room.

You're still shaking your head. "No..."

"So be it. Guards!" Odin raises his voice, and two Einherjar step into the solar, "Bring my grandson."

"No!"

He looks at you again. "Well?" You're trembling from head to toe and you lower your gaze to the floor. Your shoulder slump. Odin dismisses the guards, and he knows he's won. He turns away from you in disgust. "Get out of my sight."

You hear him snap at Loki, standing just behind you, "Not you, I've more to discuss about your behaviour."

You flee from the room instantly, past Loki, past the guards and back to your quarters. Magni's crib has been moved to the foot of your bed and you fly over to ensure he's still there. Sobs of relief rise in your throat when his familiar little face greets you. With a shaking hand you give him your index finger to curl onto. He only does so for a minute before his grip loosens and he falls back asleep.

You sink to the floor beside the crib, skirts spread around you. Whatever anger you'd felt towards Thor was long gone, and now you felt only terribly and utterly alone.

* * *

The next morning you are woken early by a servant. Her face is excited, but fades into concern when she finds you on the floor. You wave her off as she tries to help you up. Your back and hip ache from lying on the cold stone. "What is it?" you question tiredly as she hovers, almost bouncing with eagerness.

"I'm to tell you that you have an appointment with the seamstress in an hour Madam, and then you're needed for planning, and then the Allfather says you must rewrite invitations; the wedding's been brought forward!"

If possible, the news makes you feel even more tired than before. A ripe berry catches your eye, and you pluck it from the breakfast tray. "Brought forward to when?"

"Friday Your Grace, four days!" The strawberry held in your hand is placed back on the plate. You start laughing to yourself. The girl stares at you worriedly, "Madam?"

Your laughter slowly ceases. "Nothing," you say. There's no point fighting it anymore. "Nothing at all."

* * *

Four days pass far more rapidly than four weeks, and then you're stood in the bridal chamber with a flock of ladies and servants fluttering around you. They wash you and help you into the dress; perfume is massaged into your skin, and careful attention is paid to darkening your lashes and lips. Normally you would enjoy such activities, but not today.

The gown has turned out exceptionally well for the short time the tailors were given, even if you can't properly appreciate it. It hugs your shoulders and waists, flowing into a gentle pool at your heels. Behind you, mother brushes your hair out. You've been told to wear it long and loose, 'like a maiden.' It's absurd; you're a woman grown, and even if you are still young you hardly feel it.

She hands you the newly-made bridal crown - a thin gold circlet, engraved with runes for love, happiness, fertility, and good fortune. The bridal crown is usually kept and passed down to a daughter to wear, who passes it to hers in turn. But you and Thor had no daughters, so your family crown had burned along with his body. You place it onto your head and it feels heavy.

Before your thoughts can turn dark, Lorelai's voice comes. "Could I steal a moment?"

You nod, and she quickly shoos the attendants out to take their places. Your mother wanders away to give you both some privacy. The redhead's eyes take you in. "You look lovely," she says with forced cheerfulness. "I adore the colour."

Your eyes meet in the mirror and hers are full of unwavering loyalty. "Thanks," you say monotonously, "I thought I'd throw them one last surprise."

Stepping closer, Lorelai lowers her voice. "I cannot believe this," she mutters, under the pretence of fussing over your hair. "Wedding you to Loki, of all people..."

You swallow. She moves in front of you then, and takes your hand. A small object presses into your palm. "What..." You look down at the vial. It contains only a few drops of a misty liquid, and your eyes fly to her. "Lorelai!" You attempt to give it back to her but she closes your fingers over it.

"At least now you have a choice," she whispers fiercely. "I can't just let you do this knowing I'd never tried to help!"

Tears fill your eyes and you hug her close. She responds in kind. A knock comes at the door and your stomach plummets - it is time. "You're the very best of friends," you tell her upon drawing back.

Lorelai squeezes your hand, "It's no less than you'd do for me." With a last sad smile, she departs and you are left floundering. Hands trembling, you filter through the boxes of jewellery to find a simple gold chain, attaching the vial to it and tucking it discreetly into the bodice of your gown. Staring at the reflection in the mirror, you feel your mother lay a hand silently on your bare shoulder. Grasping it tightly, you take deep breaths to steady yourself. Nothing feels real. Neither of you speak a word when the Einherjar come to lead you to the ceremony hall.

When she leaves your side as you wait for the signal to enter, it makes you feel small. Then you hear gungnir hit the floor, and the attendant nods. You straighten your shoulders and work to keep your countenance clear as the doors open, and then you begin the long walk through the crowds to the dais where the royal family await you.

Loki is already kneeling in front of Odin, who is stood high above. He's dressed in white and gold ceremonial armour - the colours brings out the blackness of his hair, falling around his face in loose strands. His deep green cloak sways with every tiny shift he makes.

Frigga's brow creases as you appear and you suddenly remember that you haven't told her about the change you have made. Instead of the pale grey you had initially chosen for your wedding gown, today you wear a deep ruby, threaded through with spidery gold lace. Odin may have won, Loki may have you, but you will never let them forget the cost. In the crowd you see Lorelai, who has pushed her way to the front. She nods proudly.

Loki is watching, and you see the moment his eyes land your gown. Eagerly, you wait for anger, annoyance, embarrassment to bloom on his face; but he only smirks before turning away. Whatever satisfaction you had been waiting for turns cold in your belly. You come to rest in front of the steps leading up to the dais where Odin stands.

Ascend the steps, kneel. Have your wrists knotted, stand, speak the words. You've done it before, you can do it again. It's simple.

But your legs won't move, and Odin begins to glare. Loki turns his head towards you, and at last the smirk on his face wavers. Frigga sends you a pleading look. There's nowhere to run. Nothing to be done. So you swallow your pride, climb the steps, and force yourself to your knees in front of Odin, chin high, and the rites begins.

"Does this woman's house consent to this marriage?"

Your mother's reply is quiet. "We do."

"Does this man's house consent to this marriage?"

Frigga answers, "We do." It's difficult to hear the two people you respect most in the world agree to this farce, and you swallow.

As Odin gives the traditional speech, you chance a sideways glance at Loki. You'd hoped, expected even, for him to seem at least apathetic to the proceedings. But his eyes are alight with intensity as he listens to his father's words, and he seems to be barely concealing a smile. You haven't seen him look so satisfied in years.

Disturbed, you return your gaze to the floor. The glass vial is warm against your chest.

When the Allfather finishes, you both rise and turn to each other. Loki holds out his hand for you to take. Trying to stifle the tremble in your fingertips, you do so. His grip on your wrist is firm. Odin wraps the long cord that signifies the binding of your lives around your joined hands quickly and easily. "Speak the words, and be bound together."

Loki's voice is confident. "In the names of my ancestors, I, Loki Odinson, claim this woman for my wife. I will warm her bed, honour her name, and shield her back til the end of my days."

Odin repeats himself again as the cord wraps around your wrist. Your eyes are fixed somewhere on Loki's chest. There is a miniscule scratch in the golden metal on his chest, and you concentrate on it. "In the name of my ancestors," the words come stiffly, "I claim this man for my husband; to warm his bed, honour his name, and shield his back."

"Until?" Odin prompts. You send him a hateful look.

"Until the end of my days." Your voice is small, weak, and you hate the sound.

"Then it is done." He knots it tightly and stands back. "I call upon the Norns and all those who bear witness to this day, to bless this union and give proof of the binding of these souls." He strikes gungnir once, twice, and the cord dissolves into gold-dust. It sinks into your forearm, and you know that if you look down at your wrist it will once again bear the rune that marks you as a married woman.

When the cheers finally lessen, Odin speaks once more and you move aside, onto the step beneath Frigga. "Kneel, my son, and receive your birthright."

 _Not his_ , you think bitterly. When Thor had been coronated you had been so proud, you'd clapped so hard and for so long that your palms had stung bright pink. Today the only sting comes from the nails curled into your flesh.

It does not take long; Loki pays rapt attention to the words his father utters, and when he swears his oaths his smile nearly shows.

"Then on this day, I, Odin Allfather, proclaim you King."

Loki rises, and the older man passes him gungnir. The high priest steps forwards and bows at Loki's feet; the einherjar follow suit. Frigga smiles, the first display of genuine happiness you've seen from her in weeks, and she moves forward to kiss Loki's cheek. He leans down to allow her to do so, and Odin watches with a stern gaze. The applause that had begun grows in strength when the Allmother shows her support.

Your hands remain clasped tightly together.

Suddenly Loki is turning to you, extending a pale hand. Without a choice, you step forward and accept it, face impassive. You close your eyes as his fingertips touch your chin, tilting your lips towards him. Loki's mouth presses against yours, gently, and you can feel the grin he's been holding back break on your skin. You swallow a sob. His touch lingers a moment too long.

* * *

Opportunity presents itself time and time again during the day. During the banquet Loki's goblet is easily within reach, his attention diverted by the many people clamouring for his attention. As the day wears on, Frigga takes him outside for a few brief minutes, leaving his plate unattended. Over and over servants pass you with jugs of wine and mead; any single one you could demand, place a few drops into, and then place for him to reach for.

Why do you pause? Lorelai glances at you often, her gaze both comforting and questioning. You know without a doubt if she were in your place she would not hesitate.

But Odin sits not far from you, his presence a constant reminder of the threat of losing Magni. That you could not bear - you would never abandon your son to face the world alone. You slump in your seat. Gradually movement catches your eye, and you look up to see Lorelai in the arms of a soldier - her latest lover, you assume - waving you over. Rising, you make your way to her slowly, careful not to draw attention.

When you reach her, she pulls away from her escort and grabs your hand. "Let's dance!" She says, overly brightly. Once you are both comfortable with the rhythm, she asks under her breath, "When will you do it?"

You glance around nervously before replying. "I don't know. I... I don't know if I can."

Lorelai twirls gracefully, but you can see worry in her eyes. "Are you alright?" You nod. "You would be free..."

"Would I?" you mutter. "Magni is Odin's grandchild; I am the queen. Even if they didn't suspect me - which of course they would - it does not release me from this family or my duties to it."

"I would never tell."

"I know."

The dance turns, and you are parted for several twirls and spins. When Lorelai reaches you again, her voice is insistent. "You could run," she says quietly, smiling at the courtiers around her.

It is a tempting thought. Death would be quick, and Thor would be justly avenged - Frigga and Odin would be too dumbstruck to react on instinct and the whole of Asgard would be distracted. You could fake shock, return to your quarters, take your son and go... Even as you think it, you know in your heart that you will never do it. To do so would reek of guilt; you'd be found sooner or later. "No," you say, "Magni's place is here; his birthright is here. I will not take him away from it."

"You would rather be married to him?"

A shudder runs through you at the thought of the years ahead of you - not doubt Loki had many humiliations and hurts ready to inflict upon you. _No wonder he was smiling,_ you think miserably. Now you are his to torment in far greater severity than he'd ever been able to before. Lorelai is quiet as the dance comes to an end. When it does, the pair of you slip into shadows and she hugs you tightly. You know she does not understand, but she doesn't have to.

Only a few moments are granted between you when her soldier comes to claim her for another dance. Bored, you wander the outskirts of the feasting hall until you're back at the banquet table. It's almost completely empty; both Frigga and Odin are nowhere in sight, and aside from a few drunken nobles at the far end the seats have been abandoned.

Loki's cup is empty; you know a servant will be by soon enough to refill it. Your fingers touch the spot on your sternum where the vial rests, both a comfort and a torment.

Suddenly, Lorelai's words seem much more tempting. Perhaps you could run. Perhaps Frigga and Odin would not believe you capable of such an act, and you could raise your son alone as you liked. Now you're clenching the vial between your fingers. You reach for the cup when your sleeves fill your vision; the crimson is the exact colour of Thor's cloak. You pause. Thor would never have harmed Loki; if he knew you were contemplating such a thing surely he would be disgusted.

A serving girl is darting along the table, swiftly refilling the cups and tankards being held out to her. Slowly, you rescind your grasp.

You're only stood there a few moments longer after finishing the cup when your name is said. You whirl round with a start. Loki stands in front of you, hands folded behind his back. He looks the definition of dashing, with his long cape and strong stature, and if there were not so much animosity in your heart you would have felt thrilled. "We ought to dance." It's not a request and this is a public affair; so you unwilling allow him to guide you to the floor.

Once he reaches the centre Loki stops and turns to you. He steps closer than you would have preferred, but you can hardly back away. The tempo is slow and easy, and he leads you along the floor in smooth circles. The music swells and stops, and another song starts up but he's still got his arm around you. "Are you enjoying your day?" His eyes flicker over you.

Of course he's mocking you. "Oh yes, I've dreamed of this particular nightmare many times," you bite back.

"Many times? Maybe you've been confusing a nightmare for a wish." He sounds amused. You don't reply. Loki continues, "I do like your dress I must say - a striking colour. I don't suppose it has any, ah, relevance."

"Why? Does it remind you of someone?"

Loki's cool eyes slide to yours, and it unnerves you to see the smugness still lingers. "Not at all. But of course it _is_ symbolic; red for passion, red for desire-"

"Red for blood," your voice is blunt.

His lips press together. "Perhaps we ought to steer away from such morbid topics on our happy day." Was it a happy day? You hadn't thought so. His gaze is on your lips and your eyes begin to narrow. He leans in, and you bring your hands up to push him away. "What's this?"

Instead he's tracing the delicate chain around your neck, dipping dangerously lower. "I-" Loki pulls the small vial from between your breasts, and your heart thuds. It hangs between you. "It's for... energy."

Loki's eyes slowly move to yours. "Energy," he says flatly. You hold his stare uncomfortably. "And what's in it?"

"I..." Breathing comes with some difficulty and you bite down on your lip. Now that you know his true capabilities, something within your mind is ever on guard. "It's just some tonic to keep me from needing to retire."

"I want to know." The words are said with clear precision.

Your hands were growing clammy. _He knows, he knows,_ the thought tearsthrough your mind. "It's just a tonic," you repeat stubbornly.

"I see." His voice is smooth, and you relax minutely. "I must admit I've been feeling rather drowsy myself, after all it's been such a _busy_ day. I hope you don't mind." In a flash he has dropped your hand and unstoppered the lid, and the chain pulls against your neck as he raises it to his lips.

"Don't!" You seize his hand before he can tip the vial down his throat and the venomous droplets splash onto your hand and harmlessly drip onto the floor.

The moments that pass are silent and fragile. Then Loki yanks the chain from your neck; you wince as it bites into your skin before breaking apart. His eyes are hard. Then he pulls you close, one hand curling around your waist. You stare over his shoulder and for the first time you're terrified. He's close enough that your hair brushes his nose and his breathing is in your ear when he speaks. "I think it would be wise," his voice is cool, "not to tell my father about this."

There is the sound of crunching glass and then a tinkle as he drops the shards and chain. His boot presses them into the ground. You feel dizzy and faint as he once again begins to dance with you. Whatever horrors he had in mind were surely going to be amplified now. When the dance finishes he releases you instantly, and marches away.

* * *

By nightfall you've worked yourself into a state and a decidedly sick lump is in your gut - whether from worry or from the sheer amount of wine you had consumed in order to cease shaking, you don't know. Lorelai had come straight over to you after Loki had left you on the dancefloor and you'd barely made it to a private nook before telling her everything. Her face had gone pale.

As the evening darkens into night, you swipe an abandoned steak-knife from one of the tables and hide it in your sleeve. In all honesty you have no idea what to expect once you're left alone with Loki, away from every person who could help you if needed. The more you think on it the worse you feel.

Frigga lets you know just before your attendants arrive to escort you to the bridal chamber, and it gives you just enough time to secure a last goblet of wine. The women arrive and hustle you into the chamber with giggly jokes and some lewd comments and wellwishes, and then they're gone. The door closes behind them and for the first time since you awoke that morning you're left in silence.

The small chamber is filled with candles and a fire burns in the hearth; other than that it is bare, except for a huge luxurious bed and a vanity table. A large mirror stands in one corner of the room and you go to it, needing to see your own face.

When you do, your fear ebbs a little and a strange calmness overcomes you. As you take deep breaths, laughing male voices come from outside, growing louder, and then the door opens and Loki enters.

You are resolved on how this night will end, and as you reach up to remove your bridal circlet the knife in your sleeve pokes into you to give you strength. There are small jewels glittering in your hair, and you begin to remove them. In the background, you hear Loki move.

The sound of armour being undone is familiar to you, having watched Thor do it so many times. You identify the rustle of his cloak, the metal of his vambraces. Then there is quietness. Your fingers snag on a piece of your hair and divert your attention. Warmth rests on your shoulder. Loki's touch on your bare flesh makes you recoil. "What are you doing?"

His brow creases faintly and his mouth opens - and if he weren't Loki he might even look uncertain.

You've rehearsed what you're going to say already, so the words come out smoothly. "I'm not a virgin and we're not expected to reproduce, so there's no need," you tell him coolly.

Loki freezes. "No need?" he questions quietly.

You turn back to the mirror and continue to remove your jewels. The knife is still nestled in your sleeve. "None." He watches you with a look you can't read; something between heat and frustration and something else. Then he draws himself to his full height and steps back.

"Well then," suddenly his voice is acidic. "Thank the norns for that." He turns on his heel and walks right out. The door slams behind him.

You stand unmoving for a long moment before relief washes over you. Dropping your hands from your hair, you snatch the goblet from the vanity table. The wine that fills your mouth with every sip is overwhelming and unreasonably comforting; it burns your throat on the way down but it's a welcome sensation.

* * *

 _The doors banged shut, and then Thor is kissing you and laughing, and your teeth clash. Breathlessly you both pulled away, large grins reflected on both your faces. He looked around, "What room is this?"_

 _You shrugged, hands going to undo the buttons on the back of your wedding gown. "No idea."_ _He's happy with that and reached forward to help you; together you got the heavy dress off in record time. Thor's eyes are soft and your heart swelled. "Do you think anyone's actually a virgin on their wedding night?" you asked him suddenly. He snorted and you laughed._

 _"I doubt it very much," he said, shaking his head. His hands went to his tunic and he began to undress. You watched the muscles that rippled with his every movement. "Was today too much?"_

 _"No not at all! It was just a little tiring if I'm honest."_

 _Thor paused, hands on his belt. "Not too tiring I hope?"_

 _"Don't be silly," you grinned, "I'm glad to be alone with you though."_

 _"And I you. And even better, we have plenty of time to be alone now." Thor dipped his head down to kiss you again. His lips tasted like the honey-mead he loves, and you relished the sweetness._


	7. Duty Calling

The next morning you wake in your own chambers. Once you were sure Loki was gone you had snuck back through the castle and barred the door. You just wanted to be with your baby.

There is a breakfast banquet to celebrate the marriage, but you're not expected to attend - you're _supposed_ to be still in bed with your new husband. You spend the morning with Magni instead, watching him crawl around and trying to coax him into eating the soft food that is brought up from the kitchens. The longer you reminisce on your actions from the day before the stupider you feel. No doubt now Loki was scheming some revenge against you; you should never have accepted the poison.

Magni squeals happily as you crawl after him, playing a game of catch. He's remarkably fast and you're soon out of breath from chasing him around the room. Needing a reprieve, you roll onto your back and place him on your chest. His small hands fist in your hair and he pulls hard, struggling to continue with the game.

Someone hammers on the door hard, and you stumble to your feet, clutching him. Fear spikes in your chest. What if Loki hurts your son? What if your refusal to lie with him, the incident with the poison, had cost Magni his life?

"Who is it?" you call, voice trembling.

"Oh thank Yggdrasil! It's me!"

Lorelai! Relief floods your veins and you dash to the door, unbarring it and letting her inside. Instantly she's hugging you and you exhale shakily. She clenches your hands in hers, "I've been looking for you everywhere - I tried to check on you last night but the chamber was empty and this morning I couldn't find you or Loki..." She's speaking frantically. "Are you alright? What happened? Did he hurt you?"

"No," you tell her, sinking down onto your sofa. Magni crawls away from you instantly and your hands shoot out to catch him from toppling onto the floor. Bouncing him on your lap you continue. "I refused to lie with him, and he left."

Lorelai's eyes widen and her mouth moves wordlessly. "He just... left?" You nod. She exhales loudly. "Oh! Well that's a relief, I thought... well, I thought the worst. Have you seen him since?"

You shake your head.

"Nor has anyone by the sounds of it." Magni tugs at her skirt and she looks down unsurely, hesitantly reaching out to pat his head. "Your mother is going home today, do you want to say goodbye?" Again you decline, reaching down to pluck Magni from the floor again. He fights against you restlessly.

"What happens now?" Lorelai asks. It's clear that she hasn't thought any further than you, and all you can do is shrug.

* * *

The same day Odin summons you. Now you're torn - you don't want Magni anywhere near his bully of a grandfather, but who knows what could happen if you leave him alone? You take him with you.

Frigga is glad to see him and you let her fuss over him. Odin's attitude has changed; now that he has his way he's cordial enough. "That went very well, well done," he tells you. "Now, onto the finer details."

You look up, aghast. "There's more?"

"Indeed," he replies easily. "Our work is not finished yet. I've arranged a schedule for you to follow, it's easy enough. Once the festivities come to an end, every other day you and Loki will walk through the city together - people need to see you as a family unit. You will resume your place in the centre of the table with Loki at feasts, and make sure to bring the child with you now. And no more red gowns," his voice sharpens, "that was a touching stunt you pulled yesterday but the time for that is over."

You'll be damned if you're about to start wearing green. "If we're supposed to go on walks every other day how will court function?" you say testily. "There's too much to be done for the king to be absent so regularly."

Odin waves away your concerns. "I will be holding court when Loki does not. After all, we must gain people's support, best to break them into it gradually. Fear not, you're not expected to be there."

Your brow creases. "What _is_ expected of me?" you ask. "What am I supposed to _do_?"

The Allfather's answer is brief. "Be loyal and obey. After all, you've a prince to raise."

* * *

Of course Asgardian wedding celebrations do not take a mere day to cover. The following weeks are full of events; plays, parades, tournaments. Loki pays you almost no attention, which is a relief, and slowly your fears of his retribution diminish. He never visits your bedchamber.

Almost a full month passes before the celebrations cease, and then just as Odin has dictated, you are told to prepare Magni and begin the frequent walks amongst the people. You are waiting in the courtyard, beside the gates. Magni is still in your arms, his attention diverted by the hubbub around him and his head swivels from side to side as he stares around. Pressing a kiss to his forehead, your nose brushes the golden hair that has begun to grow thick and fast. In his little red tunic, there is no doubting whose son he is.

Finally Loki appears, striding towards you. Even in the heat of Asgardian summer he wears leather and metal. The result makes him look rather forbidding, and you tighten your arms around Magni protectively.

He pauses upon reaching you. "Ready?" he questions. You nod and his gaze shifts to the infant in your arms. "Is he... well?" The words sound odd, coming from his mouth.

Your eyes narrow. "Of course," you reply defensively. Loki says nothing, and the gates open to allow you both out. Thankful that you won't have to endure any more insulting questions, you match your pace with his as the three of you begin the trek.

Odin mapped the route, obviously, and you're escorted by a handful of Einherjar through the most populous areas of the city. The silver threads in your lilac dress catch the sun as people watch curiously, some calling congratulations. Others are quiet, and more often than not a trail of whispers follows Loki's movements.

But they adore Magni, that much is obvious. He is smiled at and cooed over and blessed time and time again, and your heart swells with unfathomable pride. You even start to smile when a young girl approaches you cautiously; pushed over by her parents, she carries a small charm. "Are you the queen?" she asks shyly. You stop walking and Loki pauses too, lingering beside you. She holds out the little token in dusty hands. "For the prince, for his health."

It's a rudimentary rune - one for luck. Your smile grows and you kneel on the ground in front of her to accept it. "Thank you," you tell her softly, "what's your name?"

She looks back at her family unsurely. "Hilde," she whispers.

"Well Hilde," you reach out to the guards, and one of them steps forward. They're familiar enough with your habits to know what you require, and they hold out a purse. You draw out three gold pieces. "These are for you and your parents, will you be careful with them?"

She nods, eyes wide and you drop the coins into her palm. She scarpers off, and you watch her until she's back within her father's reach before rising. He bows his head to you respectfully and you nod back. Hilde is chattering excitedly.

"That was very kind of you," Loki's voice murmurs.

You frown. "I'm the queen, I should be kind to them don't you think?"

He shrugs. "Maybe, but they're still your subjects. You don't have to do it."

"But I _should_."

"There are some," his voice is careful, "who would argue that being too familiar with them is counterproductive to our own interests; that it makes them forget who we are."

"Some people like your father?" Loki does not respond. "Is that what you think?" you ask him caustically. "That being kind to your people is a bad thing? Since when did you become Odin's acolyte?"

Irritation seeps into his tone, though he tries to mask it. "You're wilfully misunderstanding me."

Your voice is tight, "Perhaps if you were kinder to them they'd actually like you."

"They liked Thor," he says coldly, "it didn't help him in the end." Your fists clench. The walk is completed in silence.

The next walk is much the same, as is the next, and the next, and those after, with neither you nor Loki speaking unless necessary. However the people don't warm to him; they send him furtive looks and turn their faces down when he passes by. More than once you hear Thor's name said. Sometimes they look angry, and it worries you when Loki watches how they treat Magni. One day, when the path has become second nature to you, he holds out his arms.

"Give him to me."

The request surprises you. "Give you what?" you ask in confusion. He gestures to Magni, sleeping in your arms. You're standing in the main square, where the entourage often stops to speak with citizens, and a crowd has gathered to greet you.

You press Magni's head against you. "No."

Loki looks exasperated, "Why not?"

Lowering your voice, you mutter furiously. "You think I'm giving _you_ my son?"

His eyes flicker around. "If I was going to harm your son, I'd not do it here in front of everyone, " he hisses, "Can you believe that at least?" You say nothing and he repeats himself. "Give him to me." You shake your head. Inhaling impatiently Loki reaches forward. You stumble back away from him, and mutterings rise around you.

Loki hears them too - he drops his arms and moves away from you. He does not ask for Magni again.

* * *

You've taken to visiting the temple often. The priest bows to you, and you kneel and light five candles - three for the Norns, one for your father, and one for Thor. You ask the Norns for their blessings and tell your husband about Magni; how he grows, what he's doing, funny little stories about how he's crawling so fast that you can't keep up with him. You tell him how much he is missed, and swear to do your best to honour him. Some people say the dead appear to their relations in times of great need, but Thor never shows himself to you.

Sometimes, you doubt the existence of the Norns or Valhalla. That thought is always quickly buried.

The temple is not far from the palace; next to the barracks of all things. The path takes you through the gardens, past the gate, and by the time you're within sight of the temple there are always gold-armoured troops about. Sometimes you walk through them, and other times you wear a hooded cloak - you don't always have the time to converse. This night is one such time.

After the spectacle in the marketplace; Loki's hands grasping for your son, you leave Magni with his nurses and go straight to the temple to pray to the Norns for his safety. When you make your way back the soldiers are in their hall, eating and drinking. Their jovial shouting cheers you, and you can often identify the common ballads they sing. You listen as you pass by.

"Fair lady, you look very fine

I do my lord, but I am still mine!"

 _Odd_ , you think. The lyrics are from no song you are familiar with. Stepping closer to the doorway of the hall, you lower your hood to listen more closely. The men are thoroughly in their cups - some are brawling and some are asleep, but most of them are jolly and singing.

"The king scowled and hissed and and begged on a whim

My lady, won't you let me in?

Nay sir, said she - you'll never have my quim!"

A roar of laughter goes up as the garrison joins in the last few words. "Norn's bless her," hollers a soldier holding a tank of mead, "our fine and proud Queen!" Your hands fly to your mouth - surely they aren't singing about _you_?

"More like Norn's bless King Loki," shouts another, perched precariously on another man's shoulders, "he'll need all 'is might to breach those defences!"

"Aye; but she's used to a mighty hammering by now!"

Another gale of mirth sounds and you cringe, hurrying away. Behind you their voices follow, "Perhaps that's the problem - a pin in the place of an 'ammer!"

When you get back to the palace you still haven't shaken the feeling of embarrassment. The two nursemaids are giggling when you enter your quarters and you wonder if they've heard the song too. _Surely not - it's just a silly rhyme someone's made up._ You dismiss them curtly.

But then how do they know that you refused Loki on your wedding night? Has he told people? You worry your lip with your teeth as you pick up Magni - who is bawling - and begin to pace. Slowly, your self-consciousness wanes. It's just a silly song and it'll be forgotten in a day. Magni screams again and you sigh, rocking him swiftly.

"Sleep my love, sleep..." you plead with him. He's become difficult the past few days; getting him to nap is a trial. But he refuses, writhing and kicking until you have no choice but to set him down on the bed, his cries slowly lessening. You sigh, rubbing his back. A gentle knock comes at the door and you look through the hazy curtains up to see the Allmother peeking inside.

You attempt a smile. "Hello Frigga."

"Hello dear," she smiles back at you, then winces as Magni wails again.

"He won't stop," you say unhappily as she passes through the lounge to sit on the bed beside you.

She frowns down at the child, stroking his head softly. "I remember well my own sleepless nights," she says quietly. A ghost of a smile pulls at her lips. "Children are dedicated to worrying their parents." You chuckle tiredly. Slowly, Magni cries himself to sleep, and you both rise and tiptoe into the other chamber, leaving him sprawled on the bed. There's a tray of food set on the table between the couches, and Frigga pushes it towards you.

"You must eat properly," she chides you gently. "I haven't seen you finish a meal in... weeks."

She knows why but dares not say it. Sighing at the concern on her face, you take the plate and dutifully swallow down some bread and meat. Frigga leans back into the cushions beside you. She makes small talk about court, your health, tells you about the upcoming feast days. "How are the walks going?" she asks

You shrug. "As well as can be expected. It's nice to be out of the palace and it's good for Magni to be seen. The people love him already."

The Allmother smiles, "Of course they do." She hesitates. "And how are things between you and Loki? Perhaps the past weeks have helped you find some common ground..."

"Not really, but it's no matter." You try your best to mask the worst of your loathing in front of her, you really do - after all, she is his mother - but you can hardly pretend to like him when there is abundant evidence to the opposite.

"I did hear," she chooses her words carefully, "that there was a... spat today, in the marketplace."

"Just a disagreement."

Frigga threads her hands together. "I see." You chew quickly, hoping she'll change the topic when you're unable to answer. She does not. "May I know why?"

You pause, glancing at her. Swallowing slowly, you speak offhandedly. "He wanted to hold Magni; I didn't think it wise."

"Hm." She hums and you have the distinct impression that she already knew. "Loki is his uncle," she says softly, "and now you're married, he's almost a-"

"He is _not_ his father."

"No," she says consolingly. She pauses and then continues again, "But is that a reason not to let him near?" You inhale deeply. Frigga is not stupid, not matter how quiet and unassuming she pretends to be - she's heard the rumours and suspicions, she knows what you think. The older woman speaks once more. "I'm only saying it does not look good to refuse such a simple request in front of the people."

You reply as nicely as you can. "You know why,"

Frigga stares down at her lap and then back at you. "I don't believe it," she says simply. Your lips press together. "He's my son, he's Thor's brother. Loki would never do such a thing."

"You and I see different Lokis."

She shakes her head adamantly. "No. He's a good boy."

"He murdered Th-"

The impact of her palm on your cheek silences you. Your jaw drops as instinctive tears fill your eyes but you blink them back; the pain is not massive. You've never known Frigga to raise her hand before. Gingerly, you touch the skin where she struck you. It is hot. Frigga sits frozen, her eyes wide. With a deep breath, you turn to her.

"I think you should go," you say coolly. She reaches a shaking hand towards your wrist and your nostrils flare. Slowly, she lowers it. There is shame in her eyes as she rises from the seat, and she leaves you.

* * *

"She hit you? Freya's tits, who knew she was such a bitch."

"She's not a bitch," you defend your mother-in-law, "she's upset. How would you react if one of your sons murdered the other?"

Lorelai snorted. "Not go about hitting anyone who dared to say it!"

The two of you trudge back up to the palace. The landscape is slowly turning from greens and pinks to oranges and browns as autumn approaches. You'd spent all day in the gardens with Lorelai and Magni, trying to wear out your son and telling your friend what had occurred between yourself and Frigga. "He's all she has left," you say wearily. "I can't blame her for defending him."

"But you can blame her for hitting you." There's no point arguing with Lorelai, she's determined to be on your side. You sigh.

When you reach your quarters Magni is already drifting off in your arms and you put him to bed, thankful to have one night without tears and screaming. Drawing the curtain across the bedchamber, you sink into the lounge chair opposite Lorelai as she pours two hefty cups of wine. "There's more," you say glumly, and tell her about the song you'd heard in the barracks.

"... I don't even know how they know that!" you finish, gulping the heady liquid. It warms your stomach. Lorelai is silent and you frown at her, "Lorelai?"

She raises her head and she looks guilty. "I am so sorry."

Your heart sinks. "What?"

"The man I was with, at your wedding... Haldier, he's a soldier. I told him about how you refused to sleep with Loki."

You groan, covering your face with your hands. "Fuck," you hiss.

Lorelai sounds wretched. "I'm sorry, truly, I didn't think he'd tell anyone! I'll make sure-"

She's cut off by the door to your quarters swinging open. Loki stands there, and he looks angrier than you've seen in some time. "Leave us," he commands. You rise from the sofa as Lorelai shoots you a look of alarm, brushing past him. Your eyes dart quickly towards the bedchamber where Magni sleeps. "What have you said to my mother?"

The words take you by surprise and you cross your arms. "Nothing that concerns you."

"She's upset," Loki says bluntly. "She said you argued but wouldn't tell me anything else - what did you say?"

"None of your business!"

His voice raises. "You're my wife and I'm her son, it _is_ my business!"

"Fine! She slapped me."

Loki's eyes go wide and then he scoffs. "My mother would never harm anyone."

"Ask her, go on. We argued and she hit me. It's between her and I."

"Tell me the truth!"

"I am!"

"Loki!" Frigga's voice breaks through your row, and both you and Loki turn abruptly. She's fiddling with her hands in the doorway. She looks stressed. "Loki please, leave us."

He spreads his hands. "She says you hit her."

"I did."

Loki balks and some of the anger dissolves from his frame, "What?" He sounds aghast. "Why?"

Frigga moves into the room. "As your wife says, it's between her and I. Please son, go." He looks torn, his gaze flitting between the Allmother and yourself. At length, he does as she asks. You glare at his back as he leaves. When the door is closed, Frigga turns to you.

"It's all right," you say before she can speak. "Don't worry about it."

"I owe you an apology; I should not have struck you. I'm sorry for it." She steps towards you. "I know what they say," she speaks quietly, "but I can't believe it, do you understand?"

Suddenly you just feel sad for her. She looks so forlorn and ashamed, and you take her hand. "I know," you say.

Her eyes glimmer. "I miss him so much, I can't bear to hear of it," she's saying and her voice is breaking. "I can't stand to think..." She begins to weep and you quickly embrace her. For the first time, it is not you who cries for the loss of Thor.

* * *

Loki does not speak to you again regarding the subject, perhaps understanding that all is well between you and Frigga. But as the days go by, a familiar tune seeps into the palace. Sweeping the halls, servants hum it under their breath - maids whisper about it to eachother between fits of laughter, and soldiers sing it to their comrades.

When the lords and ladies of the court take notice of it, so does Odin. You are promptly summoned to the solar.

The Allfather is sat at his desk, reading over a sheet of paper. Together, you and Loki sit in silence, awaiting judgement. At last, Odin plants it on the table. He rubs his forehead. "This is absurd. Have you heard this?"

Your stomach sinks - you fear that you already know what is written on the sheet. Loki takes the paper, his eyes scanning it quickly. His lips pale.

"Well?" Odin snaps. "What is this about?"

Loki thrusts the paper at you and you take it. _Fair lady, you look very fine. I do my lord, but I am still mine..._ Internally you curse. "I have no idea," Loki says tersely.

"By the Norns Loki, you've not even been married two months and it's already been made a mockery of! Don't you care what people think of their king?"

"Of course I do!"

Odin taps the paper. "Is there any truth to this?" Both you and Loki remain silent. He barks, "Answer me!"

"Yes." Loki's voice is tight. "Yes, there is some truth to it."

"Are you telling me," Odin's eye closes, "this marriage has not been consummated?" Loki clenches his jaw. You avert your gaze. Odin explodes. "Loki have you no respect for this family, for its reputation! They're laughing at you - at us!"

Loki's voice is angry, "It's not my fault what the truth is!"

"The truth doesn't matter, what the people think matters! And they think my son," he gestures, "is incapable of bedding his own wife! They think you're less of a man!" Loki's fists clench and you glare at Odin. He glowers at the man beside you. "How did this come out? Who did you tell?"

"No one," Loki spits.

The old man's voice rises dangerously, "Don't lie to me boy, how do they know?"

"I don't know!"

As the two growl at each other over the table, you shift uncomfortably. You may not like Loki, but this time he's truly done no wrong. You speak loudly. "It's not his fault." Odin looks at you, "It's mine."

Now Loki is looking at you too. You feel sick under their combined gazes. "Explain," the Allfather says harshly.

"I... mentioned it to someone. They mentioned it to someone else, and it's taken on a life of it's own. It's just a misunderstanding, a mistake-"

"This family cannot afford mistakes!" Odin's one eye flashes. "Who did you tell? I will put it right."

"No, Father," Loki speaks determinedly, rising from his chair, "let me. It's me they're mocking, it should be me who punishes the perpetrator."

Your stomach turns. "Punished? For a song?" you say, voice breaking. But it's more than that; it's public humiliation,and Loki has never abided being mocked. The only consolation is that you haven't named Lorelai, they would never know it was her. You would tell them it was her lover - surely a soldier could endure whatever Loki doled out.

Odin speaks, grumpily. "Very well. But make sure it is dealt with swiftly. Come, Loki, we've got business to attend to." As he leaves the room, Loki hangs back. When he looks at you, you already know what he's going to say.

"It was a soldier." The lie comes easier than you expected. "His name is Haldier."

His face expresses nothing. Then he asks you, dangerously, "Were you laughing at me?"

"No."

Loki remains silent, unyielding. You swallow. You're unused to being in the wrong; especially regarding your husband. It doesn't sit well with you. "I'm sorry," you whisper.

He says nothing, only turns away and follows Odin.

* * *

By nightfall you haven't found Lorelai, and you're almost wringing your hands with worry. Nobody knows, you repeat to yourself. _Nobody knows it was her, she's out of harms way._ But what if her lover has given her up? The thought that you may have handed your closest friend over to Loki's mercy turns you cold. As you prepare for bed, there is a rap at your door. Your brow knits in confusion and you call out.

"Forgive me for disturbing Your Grace, but the King has sent for you. I'm to take you to him." You open the door swiftly. The gold-plated Eingherjar who stands waiting is young and apologetic.

"What for?" you demand. Had he found Lorelai? Was he angry about you telling someone what had (or rather, had not) transpired between you both on your wedding night?

"Forgive me your Grace," he says again, "I don't know."

You sigh. "Fine. I'll be out soon." Returning to your bedroom, you check on Magni who sleeps deeply in his cradle. Grabbing a rose-coloured robe, you slide it on over your white nightdress and return to the guard who awaits you. He leads you through the corridors for only a minute, and when he stops you realise you're outside Loki's chambers.

Before you can ask anymore questions the guard raps the door.

"Enter."

The door is opened for you, and the guard stands to attention. "Good evening, your grace."

"I-" The door is closed behind you. You stare, nonplussed, before turning around slowly.

What had been the quarters you'd shared with Thor are unrecognisable. All the walls between each chamber have been knocked down, leaving a huge room. Every semblance of red - the rugs and curtains and tapestries - have been wiped away; the walls are now a muted beige, and forest green hangs everywhere. The floor has been stripped back to stone, save for large fur throws dotted in front of the hearth, in which a huge fire roars.

Loki sits, legs crossed, in a plush velvet armchair beside the fire. There's a book in his hands; presumably from the tall shelves which now line one corner of the room. On the dark mahogany table beside him sits an elegant decanter of rich plum wine.

"What is it?" you ask testily.

He sets the book onto the table and rises, and you notice he's dressed down for once. "This was not my idea."

"What isn't?"

Loki licks his lips. "Father has decided," he says, advancing towards you, "that we should dine and sleep together twice a week. To quell the... rumours."

The blood drains from your face. "I am not sleeping with you."

" _Beside_ me. So long as the people think we're husband and wife in every sense," his voice turns bitter.

You're lost for words. Your eyes move to the large green bed at the far end of the room. "But Magni-"

"I've ordered his nurses to stay with him tonight."

Norns. "Your father is an ass," you spit angrily. Loki says nothing. Self-conscious, you wrap your robe tighter about you. This is the worst idea anyone has ever had.

He steps back towards his chair. "Would you like some wine?"

"No thank you," you grit out. His eyes harden and he sits, returning to his book. Numbly, you pad across the vast chamber to the bed. It is lavishly decorated and soft with silk, but cold. Keeping your robe on, you slide reluctantly beneath the covers. Loki remains seated at the other end of the room, and although you're stiff with discomfort in his presence, you fall into a light slumber.


	8. In Bed With The Enemy

**Hi again! So long time no update - I spilled liquid all over my keyboard and basically had to get my laptop washed out and dried, so I was unable to do anything with it for quite a while, then I was out all bank holiday weekend! But thank you all for your marvellous patience, and I hope that this LONG (7.5k words!) chapter will make up for it! Once again, I am ever grateful to those of you who read this and review :)**

 **There ARE warnings for this chapter: please see end notes if you want some forewarning!**

* * *

Soft morning light filters through the green curtains, gently waking you. Confused and sleepy, you roll onto your back, blinking in your surroundings. Then you remember where you are and shoot upright. If Loki had come to bed last night he hadn't woken you, and the bed is empty now too. You're glad of it, although it chills you to have been so close to him while in a most vulnerable state.

Your nightdress has rucked up around your thighs as usual, and you adjust yourself before hurrying from the room. You've risen much later than you meant to. Walking towards your own quarters gives you a strange sense of deja vu; the last time you'd made this walk in the morning was months ago, with a different husband and a different life.

When you enter, Magni's nursemaids are feeding him. They look at you with wide eyes and take in your appearance. "Good morning, your Grace," says one, glancing at her counterpart. Their curiosity makes you uncomfortable, and you duck into your own bedroom to dress for the day.

"Stay with him a while," you tell them upon returning. "I'll be back soon." You're out the door before they can reply. Rushing through halls, you reach the guest chambers far faster than is normal. Without stopping, you crash into Lorelai's room. "Lorel-"

Her chambers are completely bare. Save for Loki, standing in the middle. You stare at him, heart dropping. "Where's Lorelai?"

His voice is calm. "I had her sent home at dawn. She's not to return until she learns the meaning of the word confidential."

"What... I told you it was Haldier!"

"Do you think I'm dense?" Loki's tone grows cutting. He raises a hand, "There are only a handful of people you care about enough to lie for; your mother, my mother, your son, and the Lady Lorelai."

"I'm telling you, it was-"

"Please." He sounds unimpressed. "She admitted to everything. The poison; her idea, was it not?"

Your breath catches. "No," you lie.

Loki rolls his eyes. "You're a terrible liar, my dear." You wrinkle your nose at the wry pet name. Turning around, you move to leave when he asks you sharply, "Where are you going?"

You retort over your shoulder. "To see her."

"Absolutely not."

"Excuse me?" Your voice rises furiously. "You can't-"

"I can," he snaps. " _Your_ _friend_ plotted treason and slandered the crown; she's lucky not to be in a cell." You scoff. The idea of Lorelai in a cell is absurd. Loki's voice rises. "Is something funny?"

You glare at him. "Only ridiculous. If Lorelai can be accused of plotting treason for giving me poison, surely that makes me an even greater traitor? After all, I'm the one who almost carried it out. Why am _I_ not in a cell?" He ignores your scathing question and once again you move towards the corridor.

"I mean it," Loki says harshly. "If I find you visiting her, it'll go far worse for your friend." Your shoulders tense. He continues, "And don't forget, tomorrow evening I expect you to dine with me."

The door slams in his face.

* * *

"Why did you tell him?" you demand.

Lorelai shuts the front door with a sigh. "What was I supposed to do, let an innocent man be whipped for my foolish mistakes?"

"You told him about the poison!"

"I may as well! Better than Loki blaming you or Haldier for it."

You tap your foot in irritation, "I don't think he even cares Lorelai. You've only made things worse for yourself."

She just shrugs, wandering into the lounge. The afternoon sun streams through the windows. "I'm under house arrest, not the axe. Besides," she throws you a furtive look, "it was the least I could do; I should never have mentioned anything to Haldier. That song... "

Her words only annoy you further. "Forget the song." It's the last thing you want to be reminded of. "My point is that we've been forbidden from communicating; I'm not even supposed to be here now."

For once she looks shocked. "Are you _trying_ to provoke him? He's a dangerous man!"

"I don't care!" Rebellion roars in your ears. "You're the only friend I have in the world - I don't know what I'll do without you."

Lorelai sighs, "Yes, what a friend I've been, causing rumours and gossip. For fuck's sake I tried to get you to commit _treason_ -" she moans, burying her face in her hands.

"Do you _want_ to make things worse?" You shush her furiously.

"What I want is to make amends! I was worrying so much about the things Loki might say or do, I never even thought of my own stupid mouth. And now I've made everything worse for you when all I wanted to do was help."

She sounds distressed, and despite the ire that lingers in the back of your mind you can't help but want to comfort her. You sink into the sofa beside her with an exhale. "It's alright." Lorelai sends you a look. "No it is," you insist. "Yes, you were stupid and yes, if I'm honest then I'm annoyed. But Lorelai... who's going to make me laugh, or drink wine with me until midnight if not you?"

"I think Loki would if you gave him the chance," she mutters.

"Don't be absurd Lorelai," your voice is flat. "The only thing he wants from me is obedience or humiliation."

The redhead narrows her eyes. "Or something else." You ignore her; she's blatantly wrong.

"I mean it though." You fold your hands together and quietness descends as you sit side-by-side. "Do you remember when I first came to the palace?"

She snorts. "Yes; clumsy little thing." You elbow her and she laughs.

"I was so nervous," you reminisce. "Excited, but nervous too." You had just become a woman and only been to the city twice when Frigga had accepted you into her service - everything had been so new and overwhelming. Mother had taken you to the palace and presented you to the queen and then promptly left. "The palace was so large, I used to get lost in it all the time! I was always late to Frigga's gatherings. And everyone else already knew each other or was painfully quiet..."

"Oh I know, getting those scared little girls to talk was as difficult making Odin laugh."

You snicker, "More difficult I'd say. And they had the finest gowns and jewellery and they'd all grown up here, I felt so out of place. And then one day Fulla decided that it would be funny to-"

"To _accidentally_ pour wine all over you at dinner," Lorelai chimes in, disgruntled. "And you threw an entire plate of roast boar at her in front of everyone and she cried and Frigga was furious with both of you."

"She was. The memory causes you to wince. "But afterwards you came up to me and congratulated me on a job well done and sat by me every meal time since."

Your friend shrugs. "You were brave," she says simply. "And Fulla was a bitch."

"She was terrified of you - I'm surprised she never got her parents to have you removed."

Lorelai snorts again. "She wouldn't have dared." You both chuckle.

Then you sigh again, "I cannot believe you told him... I had everything sorted for you."

Her eyes soften and she throws her arms around your shoulders. Begrudingly, you return the gesture. "Now look at you," she says, determinedly upbeat, "brave enough to risk Loki's wrath for me!"

"Yes but it doesn't matter if I can never see you," you moan. "It'll be an age before I can convince Loki to let you back to court; you embarrassed him."

"Him _and_ you. It's my own fault."

You shake your head. There's no dissuading her. "I'll be so damnably bored," you mutter.

Lorelai squeezes your hand. "You'll survive a few weeks without me... It just means we'll have more to talk about next time! Besides," her eyes glitter mischieviously, "the palace _is_ enormous - maybe I can sneak my way into a corner here and there for five minutes." Her optimism make you smile at last even if such a thing is impossible, and your conversation moves on to lighter topics.

* * *

You only dare to visit Lorelai's house briefly - when you return to the palace a mere hour has passed. You're relieved; thankful that your friend is well enough (even if she is separated from you), and reconciled to the foreseeable future without real company. The following night, after a quiet meal in Loki's quarters you take yourself immediately to bed.

Lying under the sheets which are slowly becoming familiar against your skin, you freeze as - for the first time - Loki's footsteps pad over to the bed. Your eyes, which had been gazing at the opposite wall as you lost yourself in thought, fly wide open. During the past weeks that you been forced to share his bed, you had never fallen asleep with him beside you, nor awoken with him next to you. In fact, you'd begun to wonder if he slept at all.

But now that routine was upended.

There are soft sounds as Loki sheds his clothes. Swallowing, you clench the thick blanket between your fingers. The mattress dips as he slides in next to you; although he remains far enough that you cannot feel the heat from his body. He shifts a few times, getting comfortable, and you close your eyes and pretend to be fast asleep. Silence falls once again.

"Are you awake?" His voice is much closer than you had expected, and your muscles instinctively tense. Loki sighs.

When he speaks again, his voice is quiet. "I'm not trying to make you unhappy. I know you understand why she can't be allowed to stay."

The truth stings far more than his taunts - because you _do_ understand, even if you do not want to admit it. In your core, you are beginning to acknowledge that it was merciful even. Still, you would rather bite your tongue off than admit that to the man who had spent the last years doing nothing but jeering and insulting you. Instead, you ask him quietly, "Will you let her come back one day?"

Loki does not reply. No more is said.

* * *

It's not that you're entirely miserable without Lorelai, you're just... bored. She's been such a constant fixture in your daily life over the last months that you hadn't even noticed how much time you spent with her. Now you take Magni to the gardens alone, wander to the library alone, have your gowns fitted alone, and eat meals alone. But Loki has forbidden you to see her for now and you still fear his wrath, so after your one covert trip to make sure she's well, you do not visit her again.

You've never been unsociable - in fact you know many people well enough to stop and smile and talk with, but you simply don't have many close friends. You've never needed an abundance of company, just a special few - Lorelai had been one of those few since your youth, and Thor had soon become another.

Loki had been too, once. But that was long ago.

Nevertheless, you grow so completely bored of solitude that after some weeks without any meaningful conversation, whenever Loki asks - as he does every night you're forced to spend in his presence - if you'd like some wine, you accept.

He pours you a glass without hesitation, as though he expected no other answer.

You perch on the edge of his couch, staring into the flames that leap and flicker in the hearth. Loki sits in his usual armchair, reading as is his habit at the end of the day. You sip the dark liquid. There's something serene about his chambers, you've come to notice; perhaps it's the stillness. It's easy to just sit and stare and let your mind go blank here.

Loki says nothing, though you can tell he's barely biting back questions. Or maybe jests - it would hardly be the first time he'd made a pointed comment to you about the correlation between alcohol and weight gain. The last time he had, even Thor had told him to shut up.

You wonder idly what Thor would think about this - the whole situation you've found yourself in. There's no point, you conclude. If he was here then it would never have come to pass.

There's a rustle as Loki turns a page. Your eyes slide over to the source of the noise instinctively. Under his brows, his eyes flick up to meet yours. You look away.

"Is it hard for you?" The words burst from his lips at last, both curious and suspicious. "Being in this room when it's so different now?" You know what he really means: _do you think of Thor here?_

"No," you say at last. "I prefer it." Surprisingly, the sentiment is true. Sleeping beside your husband's brother in the exact same chamber would feel an even deeper betrayal than it already did.

Of course Loki interprets your words differently. He shifts. "You prefer it like this?"

"No," you retort irascibly. The bluntness of your reply makes him recoil again and he returns to his book. You sigh - more frustrated with yourself than him. You never used to be so easily ruffled, nor so impolite. Tentatively, you speak again. "Can I ask you something?"

Loki barely acknowledges you. "You just did."

You sigh again. "Can I ask you something else?"

"If you must."

The question comes out in a rush. "Why _didn't_ you put Lorelai in a cell?"

Loki pauses. "I beg your pardon?"

"It doesn't make any sense," you say. "You were livid, you said you'd punish the person who-"

"I did punish her."

"But she also plotted treason according to yourself, so why didn't you arrest her? You had a man flogged for sleeping through guard duty once - it doesn't make any sense."

Loki slams his book shut. "Do you _want_ me to arrest her?" he asks you furiously.

Your eyes widen. "No! I was just wondering why you didn't - in fact I think it was ki-"

"Let it go," he snaps. You shut your mouth, nostrils flaring. To think, you'd been about to tell him you'd thought it was decent of him - to thank him even! _Forget it_ , you think angrily. Loki always had his reasons for things, and if he didn't want to share them with you then you had no reason to share your gratitude with him.

* * *

Only a few days later you are in the gardens on the rose path, where the leaves are starting to turn orange and brown. Magni is crawling quickly through the grass, stopping every so often to tear chunks out of the ground with delighted squeaks and you watch him closely when a soldier rounds the corner, walking briskly. You nod at him politely, distracted by your son, when he rather abruptly knocks into you as he brushes past.

You jolt with the force of his clumsy shove, and turn in indignation. "Excuse me!"

The soldier says nothing, only glances back at you quickly. Too quickly; your eyes follow the line of his gaze and you realise he's dropped a small square of paper close to your feet. By the time you look back up he's far down the path - you grab the note and unfold it with quick breaths.

 _My dearest friend, did I not tell you I'd find a way in?_

Your heart soars at the familiar handwriting and a smile blooms on your face. Dear Lorelai - always resourceful. You shove the note into the folds of your gown and turn back to Magni. He's moved just out of reach and you dart after him, laughing.

* * *

It's not the same as having company, but the letters passed between yourself and Lorelai - quickly and quietly transported by Haldier, who you meet thrice a week on the rose path - lift your spirits remarkably. You've even begun talking to Loki; but only brief and polite exchanges over your evening meals on those designated nights. If he notices a change in your demeanour he does not remark upon it.

Still, although you know that technically you're not disobeying him, you are discrete about writing your letters. In the evenings you wear your hooded cloak down to the rose path when Haldier cannot be there in the mornings, as you have no ready excuse for being there without your son, and you worry that someone will notice your routine if they saw your face so regularly.

It is one such evening when you are scurrying back through the palace. You quicken your pace as you near your door, hearing your sons unceasing wails. Finally reaching it and slipping inside, you let out a quiet sigh and slip your hood off.

"Where have you been?"

You gasp and spin around. In the early evening dimness of your chambers Loki is stood at the table. The only light comes from the large windows throughout your quarters of the fire, and it illuminates his movements. Inside, your blood turns to ice as you see Magni held stiffly in his hands.

"What are you doing?" Your voice cracks.

"I've been waiting here," he continues in the same miffed tone, "for some time now. I thought we could dine together." Your eyes move to the table, taking in the plate of rich food that sits untouched opposite him. "It seems I was mistaken."

Your heart pounds against your ribs as he glares at you. "I... I was praying." He says nothing, and you can feel his obvious doubt from across the room, but he doesn't grill you further. Then Magni screams again and Loki winces, holding him at an awkward angle both close to and away from his body. Momentarily, your paranoia subsides. "Give him here," you mutter, crossing the floor.

Gently, you lift the child from his arms and begin to bounce him against your shoulder. "Why do you have him?"

"He wouldn't cease his screeching," Loki replies. He sounds stressed.

As Magni screams in your ear, you can't blame him. Sighing, you pace the room, both rocking and coddling the child. "I know my darling, I know," you say as softly as you can manage. Sometimes the sound of your voice is enough to calm the boy but not today. "Are you tired? Hungry?"

"He's been fed," Loki's voice speaks.

"Tired then," you say wearily. It surprises you rather unpleasantly when you realise that you find the prospect of a long and restful night in Loki's chambers more appealing than a night spent trying to convince your stubborn son to sleep. You sigh again and bury your face in Magni's golden hair. He curls his tiny fists in the fabric of your dress and cries under your chin. Without looking up, you tell Loki, "I think I'd best stay here tonight - he can be difficult when he's like this."

Loki hovers in the corner of the room, eyes lingering. Stiffly, he suggests, "Or you could bring him with you."

You pause. "Bring Magni?" _To Loki's room?_ "Where will he sleep?"

"In the bed."

"With _us_?"

"With his mother," Loki says impatiently. "Mother always said Thor and I were a terror at this age; if he's anything like us then he'll not want to be apart from you. I daresay we'll all sleep better for it."

Swallowing, you glance down at your sniffling babe, then back to your husband, who looks highly uncomfortable. Can you trust him enough to bring Magni in with you? You cannot deny the idea is a good one - besides, surely even Loki wouldn't harm a child in it's mother's arms? With a deep breath you acquiesce.

"Excellent," Loki says brusquely. "You go and I'll have more food sent up." There's a sort of awkwardness in the air and he wastes no time in leaving. Hesitantly, you look at Magni, who remains crying, before taking him with you.

That same awkwardness lasts all through dinner. You suppose it's because you and Loki have to wait together; usually you both arrive within minutes of the other, food already set out on the table, the perfect excuse to avoid talking. But not today however. You sit opposite one another with nothing to say. At least Magni quietens - being in a new environment evidently excites him as he stares around and squirms in your arms, sucking a thumb with vigour.

You bounce him on your knee as you wait, thankful for the small pause. Loki is observing the small boy, and you're just beginning to second-guess your decision to bring him when the servants arrive with your dinner. They set it down and fill your glasses with water and wine before leaving. Even as teenagers, Loki had always preferred to serve his own food. You wonder if he's paranoid.

But the meat sizzles against your plate and the herby smell from the potatoes wafts up towards you, demanding attention. You eat in silence; only broken by the tinkle of cutlery and Magni's exclamations. When you're done, the only thing left on your plate is rich gravy and Magni is growing restless again. You dip a fingertip into the warm sauce and offer it to your son's lips. When his mouth closes around it however, you yelp in surprise to feel small sharp little prick into your flesh.

The abruptness of you pulling away from him sends Magni into shrieking tears once again and you groan, lifting him onto your shoulders. Across the table, Loki mutters, "Definitely Thor's child."

You send him a look as you shush the baby, hurriedly offering him more gravy. He calms again, distracted by the new taste, and when he's done you peer at his gums. They're red and you can see little white points under the skin. "Oh, he's teething," you say aloud, more to yourself than Loki.

"Are you sure he's not just an enthusiastic singer?" Loki asks dryly. You roll your eyes.

It is odd, you're aware, as the evening goes on. Loki sits in his armchair, with a new book open on his lap and a glass of wine in his hand. You sit on the floor not far from him while Magni crawls around on the rug in front of the fire. He's fascinated by the leaping flames, and more than once you have to reach forward and pulls him back by his little legs before he gets too close.

It turns into a game between you - Magni will crawl away as fast as he can and you'll reach forward and pull him back across the soft floor on his tummy. It amuses him to no end and he giggles constantly, which in turns makes you giggle. More than once, in the corner of your eye, you can see Loki observing with evident curiosity. Idly, you wonder if he wants children of his own. For the first time in your marriage, you feel a pang of sympathy for him. You'll never give him children, so he won't find out.

You sigh. It truly would have been kinder to marry him to a woman who could at least like him and wanted those things too.

A sudden _whoosh_ and flare of light breaks your thoughts - the fire has suddenly leapt in the hearth, the flames now multicoloured. Magni is entranced, and you glance at Loki to see his hand now free of the book and making smooth motions. As he does the flames dance and change colours, reflecting in your son's wide eyes and golden curls. You pull Magni onto your lap and kiss his head as he sits and watches.

He's very still and quiet, and it's dark outside. Soon he'll be asleep and you want to be too. But you can't hold a baby in one hand and get dressed with the other; and you're certainly not getting undressed in front of Loki.

You agonize over the decision for a few long moments, before asking Loki quietly, "Can you hold him for a little while? Just while I get changed."

He looks taken aback. "Ah... I... suppose."

Slowly, you get to your feet, the fire still entertaining your son. Loki quickly closes his book and sets it on the table. Leaning over him, you slowly place Magni on his knees. "Hold him like this, just keep a grasp on him," you tell your husband. "He can sit up fine, but he will try and crawl down your legs in you give him a chance." Loki's hands tighten more securely around the small boys midriff.

Once you're sure that all is secure, you straighten, hovering uncertainly. "Are you sure," you begin, but Loki cuts you off.

"Fairly sure," he says calmly, clicking his fingers and making a lion made of smoke leap through the flames. Magni audibly gasps, leaning forward. Keeping your eyes on them both, you cross the room and duck into Loki's bathroom - close to the bed - and change as fast as you're able. You haven't even finished plaiting your hair, fingers still working on the braid, when you return to the room.

"I'll take him, thank you," you say, eagerly lifting Magni back into your arms again. He begins to squirm and make distressed noises as you settle on the sofa with him beside you. Dessert had come with a silver bowl of cream, which you had swiped, and you lift a small spoonful and let him taste it before he can begin to cry again. "Only a little bit," you tell him as he grabs the spoon with greedy hands. You figured that if there was pain in his mouth making him cry, then the best thing to do was to replace the pain with pleasantness - in this case, cream.

The fire crackles and every now and then you let Magni have a tiny sip of cream, until his thumb goes to his mouth and he sucks comfortably. You stroke his silky hair, lulling him to sleep, when Loki speaks quietly.

"You're a good mother," he says. "Very devoted."

It is quite possibly the first genuine compliment he's paid you in years, and you wait for a barb that doesn't come. Somewhat uncertain, you respond politely. "Thank you."

You both sit in silence, waiting for him to drop off. It doesn't take long, and once he does you gently lift him and press a finger to your lips. Loki nods and you slowly move over to the bed.

You can't put Magni on your side, he'd roll off the bed. Yet you're not sure about having him next to Loki... just in case. So you set him in the middle and quickly slip under the covers and wrap him in your arms, so he's safely ensconced in the middle of the bed next to you. Distantly you can hear Loki padding around, getting ready, and the chambers darken as the fire goes out. You're very tired however, and nestled in the large plush bed with Magni in your arms you fall into the best sleep you've had in weeks.

* * *

It is only once autumn is truly beginning; when the leaves begin to fall from the trees and you start wrapping Magni in fur-lined blankets, that Odin calls for a family meeting. You haven't seen Lorelai in almost six long weeks now, and she tells you how restless she grows. She's begun to make jokes in her letters about sneaking into the palace for company and conversation but you always warn her not to.

"This shan't take long," the Allfather announces once you've all assembled in the solar. "But you all ought to know that since the bifrost will be staying closed, winter trade will have to be conducted through the old ways."

The old ways; the secret, narrow pathways between worlds. It sounds like a terrible idea and you frown. "Has nobody seen Heimdall?"

"None," Odin says flatly. "And by now, I believe it's likely he's dead. So-"

"So why don't we just appoint a new gatekeeper?" Loki says, sounding exasperated. "If Heimdall is dead then the Sight can be passed on to another."

"We don't _know_ if he is dead," you note. "What if he's not? In fact, wouldn't testing if we can use the Sight on someone else either prove or disprove his death?"

"Don't be foolish," Odin snaps. "Our priority right now is to re-establish regular trading before the farms start to freeze, and the most immediate way of doing that is using the pathways."

Loki frowns. "But we could take in more resources using the Bifrost again." You nod in agreement.

"Loki..."

"I truly believe it's best, Father."

"Nobody asked for what you believe, Loki," Odin thunders. Frigga winces.

Loki's face whitens and he opens his mouth furiously, "I'm just _saying_ -"

"Enough of your saying! We will use these pathways until all is stable and that is final!"

You can hardly believe what's happening in front of you. Evidently your dislike of your father-in-law outweighs that of your husband, because you're unable to help yourself and add indignantly. "Don't you think _the King himself_ should have some say in trade between _his_ kingdoms?" _Especially when he's making more sense_ , you add silently.

Loki looks at you sharply, and Odin turns on you. "Not when he doesn't know what he's talking about! Now I didn't call either of you here to discuss this or hear your thoughts on my actions; go!"

Your jaw drops and you look at Loki - who is already rising and storming out of the room. "He's not a child you know," you hiss at Odin before going after him.

You wouldn't say either of you are friendly - but civility exists between you now. You cannot deny that you are grateful both for his mercy towards Lorelai and his acceptance of Magni; still, you are ever-aware that it is wholly likely that he's a murderer, and you do your best to stay out of his way. But today you hurry after him. "Loki."

He's slowed down, and turns at the sound of your voice. You come to a gradual stop several meters away from him. "You're right; the bifrost should be reopened." The tall man doesn't respond, and you frown. "What?"

"Your defense of me," Loki begins, seemingly hesitant, "was... noble." You shift uncomfortably, unsure whether to accept his acknowledgement or to brush it off. "But unnecessary." He looks tense, as though thousands of people are watching him and not just yourself. You frown again.

"Then why don't you stand up to him?" you ask. "He's your father, not your keeper. You don't have to put up with his criticism."The conversation has begun to take on an odd feeling - many years ago, you and Loki had this same argument time and time again.

"I don't," Loki retorts defensively. You cannot mask your skepticism. "Odin is the Allfather; as tiring as his lectures can be he is wise."

You scoff. "Wise? Where is the wisdom in keeping the bifrost closed and not appointing another gatekeeper?"

Loki glares. "I can hardly afford to make mistakes now."

He doesn't need to extrapolate - one mistake would give Asgard the excuse they wanted to revolt against him, given their suspicions and ill feelings. Still, you say wearily, "That's true, but you're a grown man Loki. You don't need his approval - especially not when you're the one who's right!" Why in the nine you're even advocating for Loki's own independence you do not know - habit, you suppose.

"I know that," he snaps. "Nor do I need you to defend me, it's unwelcome."

His words sting and you open your mouth to reply sharply, "That's-"

 _The door closed behind Frigga and Odin as they depart. You turned to Thor but he's already speaking._ _"Must you always argue with Father?"_

 _You're shocked. "Me? He's overstepping his place Thor - you're the King, he can't keep telling you what to do-"_

 _"He's the Allfather! He knows more, better than anyone, what it is to rule." Your husband looked stressed, his usually happy face lined with worry. You sighed in frustration. Thor's worship of his father was immensely trying._

 _"That may be true, but still! He's supposed to have_

 _He frowned at you. It's an odd expression, one you're unfamiliar with seeing on his face. "He's the Allfather," he repeated, as though it explained everything. "He's fought countess battles, he led Asgard into a golden age, everything we are, everything we have, we have due to him-"_

 _You spread your hands in exasperation. You've heard this a hundred times from a hundred different mouths, in a hundred different variations. "Yes and that's all very good of him, but it's done! It's your turn now! How will you ever learn how to rule well if he keeps making decisions for you? You're not a child!"_

 _Thor dropped into the chair to the right of the head of the council table - where Odin still sits, though his son holds the throne. "I'm not wise," he says tiredly, "or knowledgeable, or prudent like my father. I want to be, I want to be a good king for Asgard,_ _but I don't know how. Not yet."_

 _"Then perhaps Odin should have taught you before now. He's had a thousand years to teach you how to be a good king; why didn't he prepare you?"_

 _"It's not his fault," Thor said angrily. "I was headstrong and rebellious-"_

 _"As all children are!"_

 _"-he always said I was difficult to manage. And he was busy, a king has many demands on his time..."_

 _"You have many demands on your time," you replied sharply. "You've still made time for the people you love; you've made time to teach me the things I'll need to know to be queen."_

 _Thor rubbed his face. How odd, that the burden of the throne could become so heavy so quickly. "I don't want to hear it. Father knows best; there's much we could both learn from him."_

Fighting with Thor about Odin's control had not done either of you good - you'd got frustrated and he'd been stressed, and nothing had changed until finally he'd gained confidence and maturity in himself. Loki is far more argumentative than his brother had been - and you have neither the inclination nor stupidity to start warring with him over Odin. So you swallow your retort and speak softly.

"I'm sorry," you say instead. "I didn't mean to offend you; I only thought to point out to your father that he's speaking to adults and not wayward children."

Clearly Loki had been expecting some sort of retaliation - it takes him a moment to find his tongue. When he does speak he's less defensive than he had been. "It's fine, you meant well. It's just... unnecessary." You incline your head. What is it about the Odinsons, you wonder, that makes them so anxious to please a man who was only ever cold or hard or demanding?

There's an awkward silence in the absence of arguing. Not wanting to elongate the discomfort further, you turn away to wander back to your rooms; maybe you'd practice some more on the harp before Magni awoke, when Loki speaks again. "Tonight-"

You glance back at him, "Dinner, I know. I'll be there."

"Actually no." Loki looks disgruntled. "There's a feast - a little last minute I know. But we're expected to be there."

"That's fine."

"But afterwards..."

"I know, your chambers as usual. It's fine."

He looks at you strangely - again, as thought he'd expected some argument. After a beat he nods and you go your separate ways. You rush down to the gardens; hopefully you haven't missed Haldir and he has a new letter.

You haven't and he does, and you grin as you unfold it. You'd and Lorelai had been engaged in frivolous debates, which meant long letters and deep thought. Yet the scrip that reveals itself to you is short.

 _Meet me in the stables tonight after the feast. I've something urgent to tell you._

The words make your stomach drop - surely she doesn't seriously mean to come here? Striding quickly, you manage to catch up with Haldir, and mutter, "She's coming here? Why?"

He nods curtly, professionally, as though you're discussing the changing of the guard. "She's very upset, I don't know why. She was fine this morning but when I went to see her before now she was odd. Not herself."

"Has something happened to her?"

"She wouldn't say," he mutters back, looking about.

Confused and growing worried, you make a rapid decision. "Fine. But tell her to come towards the end, near midnight when everyone's drunk. There'll be less chance of her being seen then. And it can't be for long."

* * *

That evening your stomach is delicate all through the feast, though you manage to mask it with excuses of having eaten too much at lunch. Magni has been brought out too, and you focus on entertaining him to keep your mind off the fact that at any moment your friend could be stealing into the palace. Whatever she has to tell you must be important for her to make such a risk.

The feast is in honour of General Tyr's birthday - one of Odin's favourites, he gives long and increasingly ineligible speeches. You're not altogether fond of the man and nor is Loki, and you both sit in polite boredom as he speaks. Once, in the corner of your eye you see Loki flick a finger, and you're sure its the cause of the servant's sudden loose grasp on the jar of mead which falls and smashes over the man's head.

Luckily the general is too inebriated to care and only laughs, but Odin is furious and sends the poor boy fleeing from the hall. You look at Loki with raised brows and he shrugs, as if to excuse himself. "Don't deny that you enjoyed it," he murmured.

You shake your head to clear the amusement from your face. "Loki."

His eyes drift to the child in your arms. "He looks tired," he notes. You study your son's face - sure enough his eyes are heavy and he's sucking a thumb.

"I'd best put him to bed," you say, rising from your seat carefully, trying not to jostle Magni too much.

Loki's gaze follows you. "Do you want me to come too?"

"No thank you," you say as casually as possible. If Loki came with, then all hopes of seeing Lorelai would be gone in an instant. "I'll stay with him for a bit and then come back."

He nods, already looking bored again, and you slip away.

Magni falls asleep as you hurry to your chambers; you do hover for a minute to make sure he's truly resting and comfortable before swiping up a dark cloak and glancing at your window. The moon is high in the sky, partially covered by grey cloud. You hope Lorelai hasn't left already.

Closing the door quietly, you throw your hood up and begin the fast walk to the stables. The halls are dim and flickering with torchlight, and you weave your way between the shadows quickly and quietly. Stroll down the stairs, slip through the doors, dart across the courtyard - and finally you've reached the stables.

In the light of the window, you can see Lorelai's face peeking through. She looks uncharacteristically worried - she's tense with wide eyes and pale cheeks, and a line creases your brow. Whatever she has to tell you must be important, if she's doing something she's so evidently uncomfortable with.

Pausing, you look about. The palace is never silent, but the noise from the feasting hall is muted, and in the windows hundreds of lights flicker. There are too many to count and even if anyone does see you, you'd look the size of an ant. So you hurry over to the window and tuck into the safety of the shadow of the wall. "Lorelai! What is it, why are you here?"

She grips the edge of the window with clenched fingers. Up close you can see there's a tiny tremble in the set of her mouth. Trepidation grows in your bones. "I had to tell you - you have to know," she says, so quickly that you struggle to catch her words.

"Lorelai please," you cover her hands with yours. "Nobody knows I'm here, nobody knows you're here; it's fine. Take a breath, and then say what you must."

Shakily, your friend does as you bid. When she speaks again, her voice is level. "You know," she begins, half-whispering, "how I was joking about sneaking in to see you, because I was so damn bored?" You nod and she continues, words quickening again."Well... I did, this morning; I had nothing to do and I have been so unbelievably bored, and I thought a quick few minutes wouldn't hurt... and I- I was wandering past and... I saw..."

Under your fingers her hands are shaking and you squeeze them in comfort. "Go o-"

Your urging is cut off by the sudden noise of a gang of soldiers rounding the far end of the stables, chattering loudly. You both jump. "Wait a minute," you hiss to Lorelai, quickly turning and walking as casually as you can towards the opposite end of the stables. You slink further into the shadows and adjust your hood closer to your face as the group wanders past in the direction of the feasting hall.

With a sigh of relief, you push the stable doors open. The lanterns on the wall are lit and a few windows open, giving the large stables some light and warmth. But you can't see Lorelai. Bewildered, you look around and move forward, when you catch your foot on something and stumble. You glance down briefly; and then your eyes grow wide in horror.

Lorelai lies sprawled on the floor. From her chest, blood leaks from a vicious gaping wound. It crawls across the floor in a sickly puddle, staining the tips of your shoes. You stare and stare until you realise her fingers are twitching, reaching for you. Instantly you fall to your knees, pressing a hand against her wound. "Guards!" you scream, all thoughts of secrecy and carefulness gone. All you care about is the blood that seeps through your fingers.

She gasps, the sound distorted by the rip in her flesh, the piercing of her lungs. You gather her in your arms immediately.

Scrabbling with shaking hands, you rip your cloak from your shoulders and ball it up - you press it to the wound desperately, and scream again, "Guards! Help! Guards!" There are tears leaking down Lorelai's cheeks and you curl over her, kissing her head, holding her hand. "I'm right here," you tell her as she gurgles. Ruby blood and frothy saliva spill from her lips and you call again, voice breaking. "I'm here, I'm here..."

She squeezes your hand and gurgles again, gasping, trying to rasp a sentence. You lean down to try and understand her and she shoves a bloody palm at you insistently. You glance down - and see she's clutching several long pale hairs. Confused and distracted, you pluck them from her fingers, and she lets her hand drop, still gasping. Distantly, you hear the rush of footsteps and you tell her, hopefully, "It's alright, help is coming, I promise..."

But her hand is loosening in yours; the rings on her fingers slip away as she stares up at you. In seconds, Lorelai's eyes film over and look past you, and she is gone. Your eyes are fixed on her face, unable to comprehend the gash that rips her apart. Your knees grow damp with the warmth of her blood soaking through your skirts as she lies in your arms.

When the guards arrive, it takes several of them to pull you away.

* * *

 **CHAPTER WARNINGS: character death, gore.**

 **So, there we go; for those of you who wondered, nope Lorelai's not sketchy, just a very loyal (somewhat misguided) friend. I hope that at the end at least she was sympathetic - what a terrible way to go. But! Now shit can really kick off! Yay!**


	9. A Final Farewell

**So this chapter mostly deals with the fallout from the last, but it also sets up a few things and characters that are going to be major plot points for Loki and Reader not too far down the line. Thank you to Sybill for reviewing; I'm glad to hear that the last chapter came as a surprise, and I hope you enjoy this one!**  
 **No warnings needed, and happy reading!**

* * *

"I don't understand," Odin says, "how could this happen so close to the palace?"

You stare down at the floor with stray tears wetting your cheeks, hands clenched tightly. Lorelai's blood still stains them, and you can feel the blood on your dress hardening. Frigga's arm is around your shoulders as she tries to comfort you. She stares worriedly as the Allfather grills the guard who found you. "Were the gates shut?"

"All but the main gate, Sire."

"And the guards were at their posts?"

"Yes Sire - Halfdan and Bragi were on duty."

"Then how," Odin thunders, "has this happened? Have my soldiers suddenly lost their wits?"

The man rushes to answer, but it's clear he has no true ideas about the situation. "Forgive me Sire-"

"Father."

The sound of Loki's voice makes you raise your head. He pauses in his stride to take in the scene; Odin shouting at a frazzled soldier, Frigga sat on a chaise beside you, who iswearing a cloak and covered in blood. A strange look takes over his face at the sight of you, and he steps towards you when Odin speaks again. "Loki, finally, I see _someone_ has had the foresight to fetch you-" he glowers at the einherjar, who shifts uncomfortably- "perhaps you can make some sense of what in the Norns is going on?"

"Then is someone going to _tell_ me-"

"Lorelai's dead," you say before anyone can rush to explain the situation. Your voice is steadier than you'd expected. "Someone murdered her."

"Who?" Odin demands, looking back at the Einherjar again.

"Uh - a lady of the court, Sire, I believe..."

Loki is looking at you closely, and you see his gaze move over the state of your appearance again. He says nothing, but looks to Odin. "Father." He gestures for the soldier to leave, and the man wastes no time in marching from the room.

Odin turns to him angrily, "I was in the middle of-"

"I need to know what's going on!" Loki exclaims. "Now will someone please tell me what we know?"

"Very well! _Your wife_ went for a midnight stroll, and somehow ended up witnessing a murder on your very doorstep! Some woman was stabbed to death right under our noses!"

There's a buzzing in your ears. "She wasn't some woman," you say, "she was my friend." Frigga's hand squeezes your shoulder.

"That's worse!" Odin thunders. "Someone close to the royal family was murdered on our watch!" He glances quickly towards Frigga, and you can see worry in his face. "Double the guards; especially around the royal quarters. And Loki, look at the state of your garrison."

Loki's eyes widen. "My garrison?" he growls. "As you keep reminding me Father, they're _your_ soldiers - if anyone's to blame for their ill-training it's you."

"What?" Odin hisses.

"Odin," Frigga warns.

You tune out the sound of their bickering, staring at your hands again. You want to wash them instantly, wash the reminder of what had just happened away. Not even an hour had passed since you'd found Lorelai, but already it seems fake - like a dream, a sordid nightmare. You can feel yourself tremble a little and you take a deep breath to steady yourself.

"...were you doing out there?"

The silence that answers the Allfather makes it clear that his question is directed to you - again you glance up at his disapproving face. "I went to see her."

"At midnight?" he sneers. "An odd time for conversation don't you think?" You lower your eyes again. You can feel the weight of Loki's stare on you, and it unnerves you more than Odin. "Why can't you control your wife, Loki?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well I can only assume that you had no idea that the Queen of Asgard has been wandering the palace grounds at midnight..."

"It's not his fault," you say, but neither of them are listening to you.

Loki's voice is rising. "That's neither here nor there! Someone has been murdered, and you're too busy scolding me to let me deal with the situation-"

"I will deal with the situation!"

Frigga's voice intercedes, "Odin!"

"No, I am king, and I will! It is my duty to-"

"It is your duty to listen to your Father! Or have you forgotten that I have taken you in and given you everything..."

"I do listen to you!"

You wince as their shouting grows; now they stand almost nose to nose, Odin burning red with indignation and Loki pale with rage. Beside you, Frigga is tense, her hold on you loosening as she tries to keep them both in check. Suddenly there is a strange cry; a gasp, and as you look up Odin staggers back, a hand on his chest. Loki stops speaking, suddenly alarmed, "Father?"

There's a crash as Odin falls gracelessly to the ground - Frigga jumps up and flies to his side instantly, as does Loki. "Odin?" She questions worriedly, her hand in his.

The Allfather suddenly seems much older; he gasps shallowly on the floor, clutching her. "Frigga... I need..." he wheezes. Loki shouts for a healer, kneeling at his mother's side.

Standing slowly, you watch them in silence. Perhaps you ought to go over and offer help, run and fetch Eir, but as you look at Odin's weak face you feel nothing. Morbidly, a small part of you hopes he will die, that he'll surrender to being old and finally leave you in peace. "What's wrong with him?" you ask.

"He's not well," Frigga whispers in distress. She leans over her husband fretfully, trying to comfort him, "I told you Odin, you need to rest..."

"Mother," Loki begins, but is interrupted by the loud arrival of a party of healers. They swarm around, checking the Allfather's and vision and muttering abruptly, before directing him onto a stretcher.

"Be careful," Eir says as he's lifted. As Odin is carried from the room, she stops Frigga with a hand, turning to Loki. "He needs to rest," she warns, looking at Frigga. "As I told him before, he's not as young as he once was; he cannot keep doing this."

Frigga's voice is upset, "I know, I tell him all the time, but he doesn't listen..."

"You must make him," Eir tells her. Their conversation devolves into hushed whispering, and you frown, stepping closer to try and hear. Then Eir straightens and marches out after her charge, the Allmother hurrying close behind her. Loki begins to follow then pauses, hovering in the doorway.

You stand and look at each other, and you can tell he's wrestling with what to do, where to go, who to follow. "Are you alright?" he asks. You nod, and he glances after his mother and father. "Do you need me to-"

"Go, Loki," you say tiredly. He waits a moment longer, before guilt crosses his face and he leaves you.

Now alone, silence falls as Loki's footsteps die away. You look at your hands once more and then slowly make your way to your chamber. Odin's voice echoes through your mind over and over. Some woman? Your only friend, who had been nothing but loyal and who had suffered for it, considered merely as _some woman_? It makes you sick with anger.

When you finally arrive, you place the hairs carefully into your jewellery box before washing your hands methodically and running a hot bath. As water fills the huge tub, you tiptoe to where Magni lies and check on him. You want to touch his little head, hold him close and not let go, but he's sleeping peacefully and you won't wake him. So instead you press a tiny kiss to his satiny cheek and retreat back to the bathroom.

It's a relief to get the dress off; it sticks and peels to your legs, leaving traces of blood, and you kick it into a corner. Sinking into the water, you scrub every inch of your flesh until it's tinged pink and the bathwater is cloudy. There's blood in your hair too - how did it get there? You wash your hair with sweet-smelling oils, anything to try and wash away the gory memory of Lorelai, lying dying in your arms. When you're finished you watch the water drain away.

The nights are growing too cold for silks - you pull on a soft velvet robe, the colour of a summer plum, and comb your hair. On the way out, you grab the discarded gown.

You know you won't sleep yet. So you go to your lounge, where the fire is low in the hearth. Kneeling on the floor, you prod it until gentle flames are coaxed from the coals. When they've grown into a crackling inferno, you toss the dress onto it.

Settling back onto your lounge, you curl your feet under yourself and watch as it shrivels and smokes as the bright flames lick the fabric away to dust. It's soothing; but under the heaviness of the shock which leaves you paralysed, there is anger. Thor's death had shaken you to your core, upended your world and left you grieving - but Lorelai's death sparks something deep inside you.

Perhaps it had been because you had witnessed it, or perhaps you'd simply had enough of death. Whatever the reason, you're sick of sitting, sick of waiting, and fury boils inside you. Rising, you fetch the box and open it, and take out the hairs to study them closely.

They are long and fine - so fine that you cannot properly make out their exact colour, other than that they are pale. You wonder if Lorelai had fought her attacker, or if it had simply been fate that the murderer had left this tiny trace in her grasp. You mull it over. Haldir was brown-haired, and he was the only other person who had known that she would be there. Asgard had no shortage of fair-headed citizens. Perhaps if you went through the lists of the guards who were on duty...

A gentle knock comes at the door, making you jump. Quickly and carefully, you drop the hairs back into the jewellery box and close the lid just as the door opens quietly.

"I thought you'd be asleep," Loki says softly. You shake your head, wrapping your robe tighter around you. He moves over to where you sit noiselessly - it's always unnerved you how silently he can move - and hesitantly takes a seat on the lounge too. He doesn't speak.

At last, it's you who breaks the quietness. "I disobeyed your orders. You told me not to see her." Loki says nothing. You look at him searchingly. "Aren't you angry?"

He shrugs. "It's hardly a surprise. You've never been good at doing what you're told. What did surprise me," he continues, "is how long it took you."

There's not much point in keeping secrets now that Lorelai's gone. "I did... I did go see her-"

"Right after I told you not to? I know." Loki's voice is calm; the total lack of anger or disappointment takes you by surprise and you stare at him. "I also know that you were writing her letters - sent through her lover, I assume?"

For the first time, worry creases your brow. "Are you going to punish him?"

Loki sighs. "No."

You relax a little, but you have to ask. "How long have you known?"

"From the start."

"How?"

His voice is blunt and tired. "I know better than to believe that it was I who made you happy." The honesty makes you uncomfortable, and you look away. There's no point denying it; he's not a fool and you're not a liar. It's obvious that he's uncomfortable too, because he changes the subject abruptly. "Where's Magni?"

"Sleeping," you answer. He nods. "What about the Allfather?"

Loki sighs again. "Eir has put him into the Odinsleep. These events have worn on him greatly." You nod, internally relieved for the break from your father-in-law's suffocating presence. "Mother is with him. I know how fond she is of you; see if you can remind her to look after herself?"

"Of course." You hesitate. "It always surprises me... how dedicated she is to him."

"They love each other," Loki replies. "She's the only person he listens to - if he's in the mood to listen, that is." He sounds dispirited, and you glance at him, taking in the circles under his eyes and the heaviness in his shoulders.

"You should sleep," you tell him.

His eyes flicker towards you, then away again. At length, Loki unfolds himself from the couch and stands. He pauses. "I thought you should know," he speaks quietly, "I've had her body sent for preparation, and then to her family in the morning."

All you can do is nod. It's so ridiculous, so absurd...

Loki waits, then moves towards the door before hesitating again. "I know what you think of me," he says with determination. You glance at him, and his gaze locks onto yours. "I didn't do this."

His hair is the furthest possible contrast to paleness. You say nothing.

Loki flexes his hands uncomfortably. "Well then," he says, and you wonder why he's still standing there. "There are guards stationed at each end of your hall. If you need me, you know where my rooms are." Once more, you nod, turning back to face the warm fire. He stands there in silence, and then you hear the door close softly behind him.

When he's gone you remain sitting there, moisture in your eyes as you watch the fire die.

* * *

There aren't just guards in the royal quarters; there are guards everywhere. They march around, somber and attentive, and Asgard's palace takes on an odd feeling of watchfulness.

News of Lorelai's murder spreads quickly, and though people may not know her name, the grisly story - sometimes dramatized and sometimes underemphasised - scares the citizens, both common and noble alike. Several families depart from court for their country estates, and the servants walk back to their homes in groups.

The following afternoon, you go to visit her family - a retinue of Einherjar with you. She's been laid in the lounge while people pay their respects and make preparations. Her mother is nowhere to be seen, but her youngest brother Arik and father Ragi stand at her side, like two stone guardians. They both have red hair, and for some reason it brings tears to your eyes. They are polite and offer you refreshment, but you decline. You've not come to be a burden, only to pay your respects.

Her father appears to be taking it hardest. You've never known the man to be without a smile or a belly full of laughter, but all joy is gone from his face.

"Foolish girl," he says at last. His voice is choked.

"She wasn't a fool," you say quietly. Ragi says nothing, staring down at his daughter's corpse.

You speak again, hoping to comfort him. "I promise you, she won't be forgotten. Whoever did this will pay dearly-"

"Pay?" He turns abruptly, voice tired. "I don't want vengeance, or repayment. Will that bring my daughter back to me?" He shakes his head, "No. I know you mean well Your Grace, but I want nothing more than to lay her to rest and retire myself. I'm tired of war."

Arik says nothing, but a scowl crosses his face. You glance between them, then lay your hand on Ragi's arm. "I understand. I'll leave you in peace now; if you need anything, don't hesitate to call on me."

The older man murmurs a thanks, and you leave him with a heavy heart. In the hallway, you swing your fur-lined cloak over your shoulders, bracing yourself for the autumn air when footsteps follow you. "Your Grace?"

You turn to see Arik standing there awkwardly, hands clenched. "Hello Arik," you greet him gently. He's young - when you and Lorelai had been taking lessons from Frigga he'd still been a child running around with a wooden sword. He's grown now, almost as tall as his sister had been, but he's still youthful enough to lack a beard. "How are you?"

He shrugs, "Don't know." He hesitates. "It's odd, this." Your confusion must have shown, because he rushes clumsily to explain. "I mean, how things have worked out... You're a queen and Lorelai's dead." His voice breaks and you step forward to embrace him. The boy sniffles against your shoulder. "It's not fair."

"It's not fair," you agree quietly. For the first time, a little of the rage that lives inside you seeps into your voice, "It's not fair at all."

The youth pulls back, rubbing his eyes in embarrassment. "Father's moving us to Vanaheim after the funeral; it's tonight by the way." You nod, feeling that he's about to ask something of you. You're right. "I don't want to go," Arik looks angry. "I want to stay, and find out who did this, and when I do I want justice for my sister."

Though it's a solace that someone feels as you do, your heart sinks a little at his words. "Oh Arik... You're so young..."

"I'm training in the army! I was sent to one of King Loki's encampments last winter, he can tell you how good I am! General Tyr says that I should be a soldier in just a few years - please, please, let me stay here," the desperation in his words is charged by pain, and your heart goes out to him.

You rub your face with a deep sigh, "Arik, it's not fair on your father-"

"He'll let me stay if you ask for me," he pushes. "I can be a guard in the palace, or a squire for one of the generals, I don't mind! But let me stay, please! Someone has to help Lorelai!"

You hush him, worried that his father will hear his outburst and be angry. "Alright," you tell him. "I'll think of something you can do and ask your father - but you can only stay if he gives his permission, do you understand?"

"I don't need his-"

"Arik," you say sternly. A scowl appears on the young man's face, and you explain gently. "Your parents are grieving, Arik. I can't blame them for wanting to keep you safe."

"They should want to help," he argues, "Father doesn't even care about who did it! When King Thor was murdered everyone was angry - Lady Sif's father is still searching for anyone who knows anything! But nobody cares about my sister."

You sigh. "I do. You do. Others are bound to care. We all know it's not right Arik, but not everyone has the strength or will to fight against these things." He still looks angry, and you don't know what else to say. Instead you tell him that you'll attend the funeral, and that you'll call for him soon, and leave the family to their grief.

* * *

All along the path back to the palace, Arik's words echo through your mind. He's right, though you hadn't the heart to agree with him. People don't care that Lorelai is dead, that her was murder was a miscarriage of justice. Anger pushes you in the direction of the temple, and you command the guards to wait outside.

Inside is quiet, and you bar the door. What you have to say to the Norn priest verges on sacrilege. You trace the familiar steps to the altar, and kneel and light the candles; now six, one more added for the memory of your friend. You mutter a perfunctory prayer, and then stop.

"Why?" You say aloud. "Why is this happening?"

Nothing and no one answers you, and you only become angrier. "How much suffering do you weave?" you ask viciously, "Why do you put such terrible people in this world?"

"Your Grace?"

The sound of the priest's voice makes you rise from the ground, dusting off your skirt. He bows dutifully. "My apologies for your loss."

"Which one?"

He falters. "Both, of course, my queen. If I can be of service, please let me know."

You doubt he even knows Lorelai's name. "Thank you," you reply, "There is something I would ask of you." He bows again, the long sleeves of his golden robe swinging. Your voice brooks no argument. "I want to speak to the Norns."

The priest freezes, mouth opening. "My Queen?"

"Now."

Again, he stands agape. "But, your Grace... such a thing..."

"There is a murderer - likely murderers now - among us," you hiss, "and they are taking the people I love from me. I deserve to know why, and I _will_ know the names of the guilty parties. The Norns wove these threads and they will give me the answers I seek. I demand it."

"But..." The priest's protests are lost as you turn and enter the side chamber which holds the Norn-pool. He scurries after you anxiously. "Please Your Grace! The Norns are not to be meddled with!"

"They have meddled with me far more than I with them," you snap, unclasping your cloak. He darts forward to take it from you, seeming resigned. You dip a foot into the water. It's cool, and makes your skin prickle. You've seen the priests do this from time to time - often in trying times, such as when the Allfather had fallen into the Odinsleep, they would enter the pool in their golden robes and pray, and return with wisdom.

You don't seek wisdom - you demand answers. So with a breath, you step into the water, fully-clothed, until you're in to your waist. The priest hovers at the edge of the pool, looking uncomfortable. "One must be anointed-"

"What now?" You interrupt him, lips trembling from the cold.

He deflates. "It is an old rite; you must submerge yourself fully and pray. When you rise again, if you have not angered them, you will hear the answers you seek."

The prospect of dipping yourself fully under the icy water is off-putting, but you take another breath and shut your eyes to do so anyway. The water makes teh tip of your nose and cheeks go numb, and as soon as you're beneath the waves you begin to pray ceaselessly. _Please, Norns, please. Tell me who, show me. A name, a face, anything..._

When your lungs burn and you can take no more you rise to the surface, spluttering and gasping. The priest leans forward, eyes wide, and you listen hard through the pounding of your heart, waiting to hear them speak.

There is only silence.

You pray again, even harder, and wait again. Nothing. "Please," you say despairingly. The priest stands back uncomfortably. The ongoing quiet fills you with fury and you raise your voice. "Answer me! Norns!"

There are no voices, no visions. Only the coolness of the water on your skin and the chattering of your teeth. Rage builds and builds, until you're scrambling out of the pool and tearing your cloak from the priest's hands; you fling it around yourself and storm through the temple, through the doors, and all the way back to the palace.

Once you are back in your room, hands shaking from the biting cold, you quickly undress and wrap yourself in a warm robe before retrieving Magni from his nurses. He's babbling happily, and you think you catch the beginning of _mama_. "Oh my darling," you mutter to him. Sadness fills you as he settles happily in your arms, trying his best to complete the word, and all you can think is that Thor should be here too.

Water fills your eyes but you blink it back furiously, swaying your son in your arms. He begins to fight to be put down and you oblige him, watching carefully as he pulls himself up on the leg of the sofa and tries to walk on wobbily legs. You follow behind quietly, waiting to catch him when he falls.

Would he be angry with you, like Arik was with his father? When he was older, would he be disgusted that you'd married the man who murdered his father? Hate that you'd let him hold him, that you'd accepted his companionship?

You pinch your nose hard. You weren't doing enough, you realise grimly. If it had been you murdered, Thor would have found the person by now - would have exacted justice.

But you can't kill Loki, and you can't lose Magni. You can do nothing but wait and search and try to find some answers. You hope it's enough.

* * *

Lorelai's funeral is small and private - you stand apart from the main group, mostly consisting of her family. You've worn black to mark the occasion, and after her parents and brother have said their last words, you take a brief moment to say your goodbyes also. She's been dressed in a fine pink gown that covers the gruesome wounds that lacerate her torso, and her mother has adorned her with her favourite jewels.

She looks alive, and you don't know whether it comforts or unsettles you. You drop a kiss to her cheek for the last time, and tell her you love her. "I'll have vengeance for you," you whisper. "And we'll laugh about it in Valhalla."

The boat is set adrift, the prayers are sung, and Lorelai's spirit rises to join her ancestors. You wipe your eyes as you watch, then turn to her family. Her parents stand on the shore, arms around each other tightly. Arik's fists are clenched. You wait patiently until they turn away from the shore, and then approach Ragi and his wife. Arik watches hopefully.

"I hear you're going to Vanaheim?" you ask.

Ragi nods, eyes shifting over the horizon. "Aye, we just need the King's consent. Away from all the rumours." _And memories_ , you think sadly.

"I understand," you murmur. "If you ever want to visit Asgard again, you know there is always a place for you here. Will Arik be going with you?"

Ragi nods, but his eyes glance towards his son and they are troubled. Arik glares back. "Yes."

You pause, hesitant to breach the topic, but Arik's eyes hold you to your promise. "It's a shame, he'd make a fine soldier. I wouldn't mind having him in my guard."

Lorelai's father looks at you sharply, "You wouldn't?" To your relief he doesn't sound surprised or annoyed - in fact he sounds hopeful. You nod. Ragi looks at his son's angry face again and then back to you. "He loves Asgard," he says quietly, "he's always wanted to be a soldier. But he's young..."

"He is," you agree, ignoring the glare that the young man sends the pair of you. "But my offer still stands."

Ragi is silent as he thinks it over. Under his arm, his wife speaks. "Lorelai loved him," she says weakly. "She wouldn't want him to be unhappy on her account. Ragi, he wants to stay."

"I do!" Arik says determinedly.

His father sighs harshly, then turns back to you. "Are you sure?" he asks. You nod and he returns the gesture before turning to his son. Arik watches him fiercely. Ragi grips his sons shoulders hard. "You be careful, stay out of trouble," he tells him. Arik nods fervently. "You come see your mother and I often, you hear? Be good, make me proud."

"I will Father," Arik promises.

You step away to allow them some space to say their farewells - and catch a figure leaning against a tree up on the hill. You squint to make them out; Haldier. He's drinking from a flask, and you dread to think what state he's in. When you turn back, Arik is speaking to his mother, and Ragi comes towards you. Despite the heaviness he carries, there's a proud light in his eyes.

"He's a good boy," he says thickly.

You nod. "I'll look after him," you promise.

* * *

 **I took the idea of the Norn-pool from AoU, when Thor goes into the underground pool to communicate with water spirits. This story isn't really supernatural, but elements of that will be added in (you'll see next chapter!) because I kinda wanna push the otherworldly aspect of Asgard in this story. It's not just space vikings in a pseudo-earth.**

 **Next chapter will have much more Loki; I'm glad you all enjoyed their interaction last chapter, but there are a few more bumps along the road yet. I'm happy to say that Reader is starting to move past her grief now and take some action, and I cannot wait to write it! Thanks for reading!**


	10. The Gathering Storm

**This chapter would not stop bugging me, so I sat down and wrote it all in one sitting! It's the longest one so far, which I didn't expect, and if you liked the supernatural theme in the last one you should love this one! I didn't get as much Loki in as I wanted to (I cut it off at 8k words) but I promise he'll be in it a lot more in future chapters!**  
 **No real warnings for this chapter; a smidgeon of horror I guess? But nothing bad. Enjoy!**

* * *

The next day, you rise with determination. The walks you and Loki had taken have been stopped in light of the panic surrounding the capital, and you enjoy being able to sleep in. But not for long; you've a mission in mind, and it buoys your steps. Firstly you pick out a gown. It's green like a forest floor, and the neckline dips lower than most autumn wear, but not so much as to be scandalous. Then you darken your lashes and use a tiny tin of ointment to colour your lips to a blush.

Loki doesn't like citrus smells, as far as you're aware. Your hands hover over your selection of perfumes, deliberating. Nor is he fussed on overly-sweet smells. So you settle on a bottle of Vanir perfume; it's smoky, and subtle, like cinnamon, and you rub it into the hollow of your throat and behind your ears. Your morning bath has lent a curl to the ends of your hair, and you leave a few draped down your back while you arrange the mass into a quick updo.

When you're done and after spending a brief time with your son, you go to the Allfather's quarters. The amount of sentries on the doors are ridiculous - six to every corridor, and you feel watched as you pass through. Odin's room is large and golden - gaudy, you think to yourself. He lies under the shimmering golden dome that protects him while in the Odinsleep, and Frigga sits quietly at his bedside, weaving her loom.

Out of courtesy, you make a soft noise and she looks up. Her eyes are tired, and you get the distinct impression she's been crying. Going to her, you embrace her softly. "How are you?" you ask.

Frigga smiles at you weakly. "Fine, my dear, just fine. And you?" Her eyes go over your face and she brightens, "You look lovely! I'm glad to see you up; so much death of late, I feared you may have taken it hard."

"I'm not unaffected," you murmur. "But Lorelai would not want me to spend my days crying over her."

The Allmother pats your hand in comfort, "I know, sweetling. I'm sorry."

You clear your throat quickly, before you can linger on the topic too long and inevitably get caught up in emotion. "Nor would the Allfather wish for you to neglect yourself," you say gently. "Loki and I are worried for you."

Frigga waves away your concern, though you can see she's touched. "At least you agree on something," she replies lightly. You give a forced laugh. "But don't worry about me, truly. I know well how to manage."

Your eyes go to the old man unconscious in the bed. It's unfortunate that the cause of Frigga's suffering brings you so much relief. "How is Odin? Eir said-"

"Fine, fine." Frigga's voice is uncharacteristically rushed. Her hands twist together. "It's only... well. We're both getting older I suppose." You wait, wishing her to say more. After a beat, she obliges you. "You know," her voice is tremulous, "he was unwell before Thor took the throne even. He does too much." She slips her hand over his, lying against the blankets. "The boys do their best, but he's always felt responsible for them."

Silently, you think that it's less out of duty and more out of egoism that Odin does all he does. But of course you can't tell her that. "He has certainly always been a hard-worker," you reply diplomatically. "Perhaps too much so."

"That's what I tell him," the Allmother says, and you can hear a tinge of desperate frustration in her voice. "But the closest he's come to relaxing is when I convinced him Thor was ready to take over - you remember, after his last sleep. He was so worn down, so tired, yet it still took me having to explain that his life was in danger if he continued as he was. We fought for days," her voice shakes.

You murmur sympathetically. "At least he listened," you offer half-heartedly. Frigga bites her lip, and you decide to push a little more. "It's good of him to worry over his sons," you say, though it's a bitter thing to have to compliment a man you depise, "but perhaps... this is a sign."

Her brow crinkles. "Of what?"

"That he needs to step back again, needs to let Loki do things alone. After all, he helped Thor-" you hate saying the words but it must be done if you're to be free of your domineering father-in-law - "and he did wonderfully. He should let Loki have the same chance."

"I know," Frigga says quietly. "But he's so dedicated, so diligent..."

 _Tyrannical_ , you think. _Selfish._

She's quiet again, and you decide not to push any more. You've not come to upset her; only to volunteer a solution that would hopefully benefit you all. "I'm sure he'll be well again," you say kindly, hugging her once more, "and then we can all think on a solution."

"Indeed," the Allmother murmurs, her eyes thoughtful. You can tell she's mulling your advice over.

You rise. "In the meanwhile, please take care of yourself," you beseech her, "anything you need; companionship, food, Magni - you know where I am." You glance at Odin's still form. "Let me know how he does?"

She smiles up at you, happier than she had been when you'd first entered. "You're a sweet girl," she says warmly. You smile back, though a little guilt rests on your shoulders. But you can't help hating her husband. "What are you doing today?"

"Taking Magni to visit Mother."

Frigga nods approvingly. "Good; wish her well from me." She bids you farewell and you leave her.

For the first time in months you go to the throne room. Court is in session as you step inside, and a murmur goes up when you quietly take your place on the steps below Hlidskjalf. Loki gives no indication that he pays any attention to your entry, but you can feel his eyes on the nape of your neck. You've made it in time - Lorelai's parents stand aside, waiting their turn to speak to Loki.

But before they do, a heavyset, fierce looking man with hazel eyes is called forward. He looks vaguely familiar to you. "Loki," he says loudly, angrily, and the air shifts. Behind you, Loki inhales and you get the distinct impression this is not the first time this man has come forward.

"Lord Harbard, if this is regarding what we spoke of-"

The man interrupts him furiously. "Of what else should it be? My daughter is dead, Loki - I want vengeance."

Sif's father, you realise. Your stomach turns when you think of the fate of the Warriors Three and the Lady. Loki speaks again, testily. "I have told you, Harbard, if you wish for assistance from the crown, you will have it."

"I'm not speaking of money!" The man explodes, his thick black hair gleaming in the morning sunshine. "I want blood! My Sif was _murdered_ ," there's a furious, malicious tone in which he says the word, and you can see people in the crowd glancing askance at each other. He steps forward, right up to the steps where Loki sits, and his resemblance to Sif is even more striking close up.

"I assure you," Loki grits out. "The guilty party will be discovered, and when they are, you may have them."

"I already know who did it!" There's accusation in his voice and the whispering grows. You stare at Harbard, willing him to shut up, to not provoke your husband.

"Do not forget to whom you speak." Loki's voice rings out coldly. "If you've a name, _give it_."

His words are full of warning but the man is angrier. "Aye, I have a name!" he roars. "Loki Liesmith!" The court explodes in mutterings, some amazed and some sympathetic, all enjoying the spectacle. Loki snaps at the Einherjar and they march forward to seize Sif's distraught father. Your eyes fly to Loki; is he going to hurt the man? Rage simmers in his green eyes and you can see it grow as he listens to the noise from court.

"You're a murderer," Harbard continues to roar, fighting against the soldiers who restrain him. "Kinslayer! You don't belong on that throne, you don't deserve loyalty! And anyone else who supports you is just as rotten, just as vile-"

"Put him in a cell!" Loki commands, rising to his feet furiously. "Do not release him until he's fit for civilised company!"

Still struggling, still cursing, Harbard is dragged from the throne room. Several people slip out after him, and when the doors close again there's a hum in the room.

Loki speaks again. "Court dismissed," he says shortly, striding down the steps. Lorelai's family look aghast, and you motion reassuringly to them before following him into the side chamber, the doors closing behind you and muting the excited discussions that are being aired in your wake. Loki storms around the table, upon which a jug of water sits. He pours himself a glass and downs it rapidly.

After setting the glass down, he speaks. "Enjoy the show?"

You eye him cautiously. You'd hoped to catch him in a better mood. "It was certainly entertaining," you reply neutrally.

"I suppose you agree with him." Loki's voice is hostile. "You'd love to see me thrown to his mercy, wouldn't you?"

You hold your hands up. "Loki please. I haven't come to fight with you."

That seems to calm him a little; his fists drop from his sides to rest on the tabletop. His tone is more civil. "Why are you here?" he questions, more curious than rude. "You never attend court anymore."

"I have something to ask of you," you say. Norns, you hope this works. Thor had once remarked that you could charm... - you pray he's right and not just empty flattery.

Loki seems intrigued. His brows raise high. "Oh?"

You drift towards him, so that he can get the full effect of your perfume and your eyes. "The next people waiting to speak to you wish to relocate to Vanaheim. They have a son; he's a soldier. He wishes to stay and I wish to add him to our household guard."

Loki links his hands behind his back. "Why?"

"They're Lorelai's family," you say quietly. "He's her younger brother - I want to help him."

He's silent while he considers your request. It doesn't take him long, "Very well."

The smile that spreads across your face is genuine, even if it is tinged with relief. "Thank you," you murmur. He simply inclines his head, but as he does you notice his eyes linger on your neckline, and he inhales. "I also ought to tell you that I'm taking Magni to visit my mother tonight." You're sure to infuse the right amount of lightheartedness into the words so that Loki has no reason to think anything amiss. "I'll stay there and be back in the morning."

His brow creases and he stirs. "You'll be gone the night?"

You hum. "It's just... with all that's happened, I'd like to get away for a little while. And I haven't seen my mother in some time now. I'll take guards," you quickly add. If he thinks you're going to try and run away, he might never let you go.

"It's dangerous."

"Several guards."

Loki's expression remains displeased, but you're being so amicable that he has no grounds to argue on. "And you'll be back in the morning?"

"Before noon. I just want a change of scenery, someone to talk to."

He looks at you and his mouth opens - but he closes it again quickly. Instead he says, "You'll miss our dinner."

"We can move it to tomorrow, can't we?" It's a struggle to keep any trace of annoyance from your tone; you endeavour to sound as agreeable as possible. It works.

"I suppose." Loki sounds resigned, though you can't imagine why. His eyes narrow the smallest bit. "Tell the guards if anything happens to you I'll have them strung up." Your eyes widen. It can only be a threat.

"I'm sure everything will be fine," you say weakly. He nods and you sigh internally with relief that it's over. As you move to the door, he says your name and you turn back.

His eyes look you over, slowly. "Make sure to take a warm cloak. It's getting colder." Unsurely, you nod. Loki folds his hands behind his back once more. "Well, enjoy yourself. I'll see you tomorrow."

You reply politely, and leave as soon as you're able.

* * *

Loki is true to his word; by noon Lorelai's family have departed with his consent, and Arik is in the barracks. You have no intention of trying your capricious husband's patience - you assemble a small troop of guards and inform them of your plans. But before you leave, there are two more you wish to bring with you; in truth, the only two you trust.

Haldier appears when summoned and you're relieved to see he's sober, though his face is grim. He listens dutifully when you ask him to join your guard and agrees with no compaints. You eye him critically. "Are you... well?" you venture.

He shrugs. His hair is oaky brown, his eyes the colour of the sea. "As much as I can be." The man's voice is hoarse.

You glance around - in the courtyard soldiery and servants mill about, not paying much attention. You move closer to him. "I saw you at the funeral. Why didn't you come down?"

"I didn't want to see her," he replies simply. "Not like that."

What can you do but nod? You know only too well the grief he endures. "She'd have been happy you were there," you tell him softly. He nods, eyes downcast. Quietly, you continue, "You know her brother, Arik? He's here, I've made him a part of my household guard. Will you watch over him?"

"Of course. But I have to tell you, I don't think keeping him in the barracks is wise, my queen."

Your face is sharp. "What do you mean - why?"

Haldier's clears his throat, lowering the volume of his words. "There are rumours among the men. Many of them believe Loki had a hand in it."

"Why?" you're shocked. That he was guilty of Thor's murder you could believe; could understand why anyone would believe it. But he'd been far removed from Lorelai's death. "There's no real reason... Do you think he did?"

Haldier shrugs. "I don't know what I think. He was in the feasting hall, we could all see him. But he was angry with her; and she was disobeying him..."

The inflection in his voice makes you cringe. "Haldier... I'm sor-"

"I don't blame you," he says, and you can see he's not lying. "It was her idea, she was adamant that she had to see you.."

You're silent for a moment while you weigh whether or not you should share what you know with him. He begins to look uncomfortable, and you reach a decision. "Thank you, for that. Haldier," you take a breath, unused and still unwilling to vindicate Loki. But Lorelai's dead, and you want to know her murderer more than you hate him. "I truly don't think it was him." The man is evidently surprised so you rush on, "when... it happened... I don't know if she had fought back or what, I didn't see... But there were pale hairs under her nails, Haldier. Very pale. If Loki did kill Lorelai, why would he need a disguise to do it? Nobody was about and hundreds of people can vouch for his presence in the feasting hall."

The soldier's eyes are bright with intensity as he absorbs your words - but before either of you can continue, you catch sight of red hair and step away. "Arik," you call. The boy looks around and comes towards you. "Not a word," you warn Haldier under your breath. Arik's too young to be caught up in such dark proceedings; you had no wish to distress the boy further.

"Your Grace," Arik bows and you smile at him gently.

"Did you say goodbye to your parents?" you ask kindly.

He nods, "They're leaving tonight; the house is being packed now."

You smile at him again. _Poor child_ , you think. He was not much younger than you had been when you'd first been left alone in the capital, and you knew well how overwhelming it could be. "How are the soldiers treating you? Do you like the barracks?" Arik answers evasively, and you glance quickly at Haldier. "There's something I wish for you to do," you tell him. "I'm going on a trip tonight and I'm taking a few guards for protection - would you join me?"

The youth brightens a little. "Of course, my queen," he replies. "Where are we going?"

"Only to my mother's village; but it's a few hours ride and it's in the mountains, so you must be aware of your surroundings. Haldier," you gesture and the man steps forward. Arik recognises him, as you hoped he would, "will be coming too - any questions or worries you have, and you may raise them with him. Understand?"

"Yes, my queen," Arik replies, and you're happy to hear he sounds more upbeat.

"We're leaving shortly," Haldier tells him. "Go get some things, and be quick about it."

Arik instantly falls into soldier-mode; he nods and quickly marches off. You turn to Haldier, who also looks a little less glum. "Remember, you say quietly, "not a word."

* * *

The ride is long and there's a cold breeze in the air, but you love it. It's been an age since you've ridden your horse properly, and you ride ahead of the carriage which holds Magni and his nurses, the soldiery racing to keep up. The wind whips across your face and you grin unabashedly. With the awful events that have befallen, you've forgotten to do the things you enjoy, and you promise yourself to go riding more often.

"You look happy," Haldier comments, a wheeze in his chest as his horse falls into line beside you. There's some distance between the two of you and the others, and given the grief you both share there's a comradery between you now. "I didn't know you were a horsewoman."

"I'm an excellent rider," you laugh. "I've been doing it most of my life."

"Lorelai hated riding," he says wistfully.

You glance at him. "Not all types of rising, as I'm sure you well know." His eyes widen comically and he seems lost for words. You laugh at him.

Haldier shakes his head. "I sometimes wondered," he confesses, "how it was that you and Lorelai were so close. You were so different. But I think I understand now."

You smile sadly. "She made me laugh," you tell him. "I didn't always find her appropriate and I think she thought I was too serious, but she always made me laugh." He returns the smile and you fall into silence. Glancing back, your eyes fall on Arik, trodding next to the carriage. You beckon him forward and he urges his horse into a gallop. "We're almost there," you assure him when he's caught up.

The youth looks somewhat relieved; there's weariness on his face. "My mother makes a wonderful vension stew," you tell him, knowing the boy's appetite. "I'm sure she'd be happy to make some - unless you'd rather stay in the village inn with the rest of the men?"

"Venison stew sounds like Valhalla," Arik replies hungrily. You smile at him.

"Good! Tell the others that when we reach my mother's house they may go and find rooms in the village; it's small so they won't be far away if anything happens. You and Haldier can stay with me."

The boy does as he's told. Haldier watches him go, before speaking. "Loki won't like it.""Loki doesn't have to know," you say quietly. Haldier pauses and then nods - and suddenly warmth blooms in your chest. For the first time, you're starting to feel like there are other's on your side - like you're a queen again, and not just a pretty ornament.

Late afternoon is wearing on by the time your small party has gone through the mountains, slowed down by the carriage. When you reach your childhood village; a large circle of farmsteads and homes, with several streets and taverns, you're glad to be down from the horse. Going straight to the carriage, you can hear Magni's cries from inside, and you take him from the nurse who hold him.

"Did he sleep at all?" you question her and she shakes her head. That pleases you - he'll sleep soundly tonight. "Here," you give her a small purse of gold and silver coins as the second nursemaid steps down from the carriage, "you've both done enough for today. You may take the night off; there's an inn at the village and some shops you may like to browse before they close."

The girls' eyes light up. "Really?"

You smile at them. "Really. Just don't drink too much and be ready when I need you in the morning." They sing their gratitude before scarpering off, and you smile over Magni's head.

"Your Grace," one of the Einherjar addresses you. "Where now?"

"That's my mother's house-" you point out the farmstead, where a young man is ploughing the field- "I'll stay there for the night, and Arik and Haldier can stay with me, the rest of you may spend the night in the inn."

Most of the small group seem happy enough, but the soldier who had spoken frowns. "Only two guards?" he questions, uncertain. "King Loki-"

"King Loki doesn't know how small my mother's house is," you interrupt him. "I suspect none of you want to be packed in like sardines, and I would like to enjoy the evening with my family. Do you think he'd object to that?" It's clear the man is hesitant to fall into Loki's bad graces; he wavers but does not agree. You smile at him sweetly. "Sir, I've every confidence in your abilities. If anything does go wrong, the village is so small that you'll know almost immediately - and I'll have two guards with me anyway. Besides, it's such a small place, I doubt harm will befall us in one night. Wouldn't the King rather hear how dutiful you were, than how uncomfortable I was?"

That gets him - he nods. "I'll have the men do a quick survey of the area, check the parameters. Don't hesitate to send for us, your Grace."

"I won't," you assure him. Finally the guards move off, and you walk the semi-familiar path to your childhood home.

The arrival of a royal entourage has evidently been noticed, because your mother is waiting anxiously at the door. As you approach her, you're not sure what to feel - anger, happiness, betrayal? But her face has fresh lines and it all melts away when you see how the happiness in her expression.

"My dear!" She hurries forward, pulling you into a hug. Magni is sandwiched between you as you return the gesture, and she pulls away to dote on him. "Come in, come in," your mother says, urging you inside. "Sigurd! Bring fresh wood and milk, I've guests." The boy you'd seen tolling in the field shouts back and she closes the door.

The house seems even smaller than you remembered compared to the expanse of the palace. It's still daytime, so there's no fire in the small hearth and the curtains are open. "Oh, you didn't say you were coming!" she frets, but you can hear how delighted she is.

"I wanted to surprise you," you reply, setting Magni on the fur in front of the hearth. He stretches out curiously and begins crawling about.

Your mother comes over with cups and a plate in hand. "I thought you were too angry with me," she says. "You've not even written."

Ashamed, you look down. "I was unhappy, mother."

She hands you some water, knowing your dislike of mead. "And now?" she asks hopefully.

Suddenly, your mouth is too dry and the words stick in your throat. Of course she didn't know, how could she? Drinking the water rapidly, you take a breath. "Lorelai's dead, Mother." Saying it brings a lump to your throat.

Your mother is shocked into silence and she flounders for words. "What? Lorelai? But..." she trails off, eyes wide. "Oh... the poor girl. What _happened_?"

"She..." If you tell her that another person; another person close to you has been killed, she'll worry. "She had an accident. It was only a few days ago."

"No," your mother says in dismay. "You were good friends... Oh my dear..."

She comes and sits beside you, pulling you into her arms. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying not to let tears escape as she comforts you. Frigga is wonderful, but she's not your mother. "I'm okay," you say unsteadily. "I'm fine. Just... upset."

"But of course," your mother says soothingly. "Of course." At length she releases you, and wipes the wetness from under your eyes. Magni calls happily from the floor, a welcome distraction, and she lifts him, asking you a million questions about what she's missed.

* * *

By evening Arik and Haldier arrive; you've already asked mother not to mention Lorelai and she readily agrees. She apologises that they'll have to sleep beside the fire in the living room but they're both very gracious about it and you can tell she likes them. Arik especially warms to her - he helps her make the venison stew he's been promised, and she laughs at his cheek when he steals the odd bite.

You're happy to see the diversion is helping the young man not to dwell on his grief. All four of you settle down to a warm meal, and afterwards Arik looks sleepy. Haldier is quiet, but you think even he seems a touch more content. Before the redhead can doze off however, he pats his shoulder and rises to his feet. "Come on," he says, "we need to do one last patrol before you think about sleeping. It won't take long."

To his credit Arik does not complain - and they disappear off into the darkening evening. When they're gone again, you and your mother sit in cosy silence - Magni lies sucking his thumb on the fur in front of the fire, and you rise to draw the curtains. There is still an undercurrent of unsaid tension between yourself and mother, and when she speaks it doesn't surprise you.

"How is your marriage?"

Her voice is quiet and she doesn't look at you, sipping the warm drink in her hands. You sit again before answering her. "It's... ongoing."

She is quiet again before asking. "Does he hurt you?"

"No," you answer immediately. To his credit, Loki has never once laid his hands on you, and you won't spread lies about him. "No, he doesn't hurt me." She looks relieved, and you feel guilty for not coming to see her sooner. "Have you received your payments?"

"Yes dear, don't worry about that." She shifts a little. "Are you getting along?"

"With Loki?" She nods and you sigh. "As well as one can, given the circumstances I suppose."

She bites her lip; a habit you've inherited. "You were friends once. Perhaps-"

"I think that's asking a little too much," you say. She doesn't argue, and you have to ask, "Mother?"

She looks at you. "If you thought Loki might hurt me, why did you agree to it?" It takes concentration to keep the hurt from your voice, and you know she hears it anyway. Your mother lowers her eyes and does not reply. But your anger has waned, so you sigh and change the subject. "Odin has fallen into the Sleep."

"He has? We must pray for him." You roll your eyes. "What happened?"

You shrug carelessly. "He's old; I suppose it's nature's way of telling him to slow down."

"He does do much," your mother mutters sympathetically. "It cannot be easy, having lost one son and another unprepared. The Allfather's been handling it wonderfully, everyone agrees."

"Do they?" you say coolly. "And what do they say of Loki?"

She pauses. "They say... Not much." You can feel she's evading the question but it's not of much concern to you. "Asgard is well," your mother continues, "and that is the important thing."

* * *

Everyone takes to their bed not long after Arik and Haldier return. It's early, but the long ride and heavy food have sent you all into a lethargic state. Magni falls asleep quickly when you rock him in your arms, and you kiss your mother goodnight. She tells the two soldiers where to find more wood for the fire if it goes out in the night and brings them extra blankets before disappearing up the stairs.

You wait until the house settles and you can hear light snoring. It's tempting to fall into bed - but you have not come this far to give into tiredness now. You tuck a blanket over Magni and then lift your fur-lined cloak over your shoulders. There's a breeze outside, and it rattles the windows softly.

Quietly, you move out into the upstairs corridor and close your bedroom door. The house is dark, and you edge down the stairs; avoiding the second to last step where there's a squeak in the wood. Both the guards are fast asleep. Or at least until you unlatch the door.

"Your Grace?" Haldier sounds half-asleep half-alert and you glance at him. He stares at you. "What are you..."

You raise a finger to your lips and shake your head. A long moment passes, and then he rises. He doesn't bother putting his armour on - only lifts his sword and jacket, and then follows you. When you're outside in the cold air, you whisper, "You don't need to come. I won't be long."

"Where are you going?" he asks, hesitant.

You cast your eyes to the mountains not far from the village. "I need to speak to someone."

"Who?" When you don't reply he shifts uncomfortably. "Your Grace, I am charged with your safety."

"I'll be safe; it's not far. And I'm taking my horse, so I'll be back even sooner. I know I can trust you Haldier," he sighs. "You must not speak of this.

Uneasy, he sighs. "Very well, your Grace. But can I at least know where you're going?"

"Only to the mountain."

His eyes widen and his head turns towards the forested peak. He doesn't argue with you any more. "If you aren't back in some time, I'll come looking."

You smile. "Thank you, Haldier." Quietly, he retreats back inside, and you lift your hood, hurrying to the stables where your horse is. You fumble in the darkness - memory only serves so well, and you stub your toe twice before managing to unlock the stall and lead the animal out. "Be quiet," you whisper to the animal, petting it gently. The chestnut mare is obedient as you lift yourself onto her back. Then your moving, across the field and into the treeline, far from the lights of the village.

It's fifteen minutes at a gallop through the forest, and then another twenty up the base of the mountain. When the terrain becomes too steep, you stop and tie your horse to a tree. It's truly dark now - the moon shines high above you and damp leaves crackle and snap underfoot. You pause for a minute, listening to the air. No wolves howl and no creatures move, so you continue upwards.

Finally, when you're gasping for breath, you see it. The dark wooden hut; it resembles a temple with its sloped roof and rune markings, but it's not made of gold nor are there candles or incense. Cautiously, you approach the door, taking your time. No light comes from inside, and you begin to wonder if it's derelict. But you won't know unless you try - and you so desperately need to know.

Steeling your resolve, you lift a hand and knock the door.

"Come in."

The voice that calls out is hard to distinguish; neither soft or harsh, and your movements are wary as you push the door open and step inside. Lowering your hood, you part your lips to speak when the Seer talks again. "You've come about your husband."

A chill goes down your spine. Dumbly, you nod. The Seer gestures with a hand. "Come. Sit. Or stand, if that be your preference."

Sitting would be the polite thing, you reason, so you do. The long brown robes the Seer wears are thick and heavy, and shroud their features from your view. All you can make out are two glittering black eyes. After a moment of silence you question, "How did you know I was coming?"

"I didn't."

"Then how-"

"Queens, kings, allfathers. Maids, soldiers, stableboys. You all want the same thing; answers."

You swallow. "I have sought answers, in the temple. The Norns gave me none."

"Priests." Their voice is full of scornful laughter. "Pomp and display - what need do the Norns have for that? They do not ask to be worshipped. They ask for nothing, and they give nothing."

The statement makes your stomach sink. If even a Seer could not help you, what else would you do? Travel to the darkest corners of the realms, search the darkest magics? Such practices required heavy prices - too heavy for you to bear. "So you cannot help me?"

"Me? No. Nor can the Norns, I fear. But there is one; perhaps two, who you may ask of."

Your eyes widen. "Thor?" The Seer nods and something bright and fierce flares inside you. "You've spoken to my husband?"

"He has come to me," there's an odd lilt to the Seer's tone; a sort of muted reservation. "The first time his face was split wide open and I could not understand him for his lips were too mangled to form words-" you clap a hand over your mouth, tears of horror stinging your eyes- "he had not the power to summon a storm, and he was gone in an instant. But the second," now there is glee in their eyes, "the second... He shone bright as a beacon, and his fury was great."

Your hearth thrums, and you lean forward, "Did he say anything about me? About his son?"

"It lasted but a moment; he did not speak."

You're hardly listening. An idea - a wonderful, thrilling idea occurs to you and the words burst from your lips, "Can you bring him back to me?"

The Seer laughs at you. "His soul is restless; enough so that he has the will to appear to me. But no - not even the mighty Thor can cheat death." Their words don't surprise you, but they crush you all the same. The Seer continues, "Have you anything of importance to ask? I've not the patience for silence or riddles."

"Yes, I do." You steady yourself with a breath. "I want to know who killed him, who killed my friend. Her name was-"

"Lorelai."

You're becoming used to the eerie foretelling of the Seer and it doesn't trip you up, "Yes. Ask them who."

The Seer is silent for a moment; a withered finger rubs against the table. "I must warn you, rarely do the dead speak. You've a better chance here then in your temple, but the answers are not guaranteed. And if they are," their black eyes fix you in place, "you may not like what you hear. You are sure-"

"Yes," you hiss. "Yes I'm sure. Ask them."

"Very well."

The Seer stands - their movements more agile than you expected from a person who appears ancient. As they bend to ladle water from a bucket into a bowl, you offer, "I can do-"

"Quiet."

You bite your tongue as the Seer slowly fills the wooden bowl with water. The liquid sloshes as it fills, and drips down the sides. They amble back to the table, and set the bowl in front of them. Lowering themselves back into the chair, the Seer leans over, their robes almost swallowing the bowl from view. You crane your neck forward.

Placing those spindly fingers on either side of the bowl, the Seer hums, moving it back and forth until the water whips around the bowl. "Thor," they call, "Lorelai. You are needed - come, for a moment." The bowl continues to move - the water continues to overflow. Outside, the breeze beats against the windows. "Thor, come. Lorelai, come. You are called."

 _Madness_ , you think as they chant. You've truly reached the edge of desperation, and embarrassment wells inside you. What would people say, if they knew-

A distant echo of thunder makes you go cold.

"Thor," the Seer calls out, loudly. "I've company; someone you'll recognise." The thunder grows, and they hiss at you, "Call him."

Your lips won't cooperate, his name falls from your lips clumsily. "Thor," you whisper.

"Louder child!"

Again, "Thor."

A sudden, electric flash of lightning ricochets outside the door; you jump out of your chair, the hairs on your neck stiff, your hands shaking. The wind howls angrily and all the while the Seer calls Thor's name. You can't look away from the door - the storm grows, louder and louder until you fear you're going deaf - you clap your hands over your ears, eyes wide and lightning flashes violently.

 _"Close."_ The voice is almost familiar; but too unearthly and loud, and you wince in fear. _"Close."_

The door shakes in its hinges and you stare at it in horror. You don't want to see him, you realise dimly as the walls shake, he should be dead and gone and you don't want to see him. Terrible visions of Thor; mangled and corpselike in the doorway fill your mind and you squeeze your eyes shut. "Thor," you whisper. If this is your husband then he'll listen - he's never once scared you. "Thor, enough. Please."

The thunder recedes; the lightning stops. The door is still. The wind is calm.

"There." The Seer's voice is steady - but in it, you detect a tiny quiver. "You have your answer. Now leave me."

You don't need to be told twice. You move quickly towards the door and open it with shaking fingers, quickly. But before you leave, you hesitate. "Thank you," you say numbly.

The Seer inclines their shrouded head and you slam the door shut.

* * *

The next morning you rise late - a consequence of your midnight adventures. Magni is downstairs being fussed over by your mother, and she smiles at you when you enter the living room. "Palace life has made you lazy," she scolds lightly. "It's well past breakfast."

Haldier meets your eyes for a second before looking away. "It has," you agree.

You stay for lunch, and then until you can't put it off any longer. Arik and Haldier go to round up the soldiers, and you dress Magni in warm clothes for the journey back. He's been endeavouring to say his first word, and it finally forms. "Ma- M- Mama!"

You laugh in delight and poke his nose. "Mama," you reply.

He screams happily, "Mama! Mam- Mama!"

"Oh, your nurses are going to love this," you tell him smugly, wandering out to the carriages where they wait. Your farewells are brief and sweet, and then your back up on your horse and the long road back to the city stretches out in front of you. Both Arik and Haldier are in higher spirits then they had been when you'd left, but as the afternoon wears on and Asgard comes closer, a cloud descends upon you.

 _"Close."_ Your dead husband's voice had said. _Close._

Haldier doesn't pry, which is a relief, and then you're riding back through the city, where people wave at you and smile. You slow your horse to wave back, but it's half-hearted. _Close._ When you reach the palace courtyard again, it's as though you never left; it's busy with everyday activities, soldiers marching, women chatting, horses neighing. You accept the hand of the Einherjar who helps you down.

Magni's nursemaids appear in your peripheral, looking every bit as frazzled as you'd expected. In their arms, the tiny boy chatters away, differing variations of the word he's just learnt. "Take him to my chambers," you instruct them. "I need to settle my horse."

Turning back, you thank the soldiers for their service and dismiss them - Arik wanders after them. As they go, a man brushes past, and you recognise him with a start. "Lord Harbard?"

Sif's father stops short. He's wearing the same clothes he had yesterday, and he looks at you coldly. You balk at his expression but endeavour to enquire after him. You had admired the Lady Sif, though you'd never been close - she had always been kind to you, and loyal to your husband. "How are you, sir?" you ask.

"How do you think?" he demands. "Better than your husband expects, I imagine." Behind you, Arik hangs back, eyeing the angry man uncertainly.

You search for a diplomatic response. "We all mourn for your loss, sir. Lady Sif-"

He barks out a humourless laugh, "All? I don't see Loki mourning. And why would he, when he has all he could wish for."

You shift uncomfortably. It's a sentiment you've thought often enough yourself, but coming from someone strange it seems much more vicious. "We are doing all we can, sir-"

"All you can? Liar; Loki's doing nothing - why would a murderer investigate his own crime? should be ashamed." You flinch at his hateful words. "Marrying the man who murdered your husband? Thor's turning in his grave."

"You don't know anything about my husband."

"Which one?" Harbard shoots back. "My daughter is dead, your husband beside her, and you share the bed of the man who murdered them! I'd wage my life he killed that poor girl too, but that doesn't matter to you does it?"

Tears are in your eyes but you blink them away try to keep your voice calm; it would do no good to have a screaming match with a bereaved father. "My lord, I understand your grief, but-"

"Do you?" he demands angrily, fists clenched. "Do you now? You're no better than a whore; honour and loyalty mean nothing to those who can be bought."

"How dare you - I am your queen."

"You're a traitor," he hisses. "A traitor to Thor and all who served him, as my daughter did-

"That's enough," Haldier interrupts him harshly, shoving him away. "Go back to your wife, Harbard. Sif would be ashamed of you."

Harbard's eyes burn as Haldier marches him away; a mix of grief and danger. "No," he replies. "Sif would want vengeance."

* * *

Loki clears his throat. "I didn't tell you yesterday; you looked lovely. That colour was very flattering on you."

"Thank you," you answer automatically. You can't stop thinking; about the Seer's words, about Harbard. About Thor. When it's obvious you've nothing to add, Loki speaks again.

"You seem... quiet tonight. Is your mother well?"

"She's fine." _Close._ "I'm just thinking about Lorelai." He has no reply to that and the meal continues in silence. Covertly, you glance at him. He seems guiltless enough; if a little stressed. But Loki is a great deceiver. Your heart pangs painfully - what else could Thor mean? Who else could he be speaking of? And yet a small part of you hopes that Loki is not what you think - that something somewhere has been misunderstood, and that you won't have to share the long years of your life with Thor's murderer.

There is a way, it occurs to you, to gain a clearer understanding. To give Loki a chance to let the seed of hope grow in you. So you say, "Actually, there is more. I was thinking about Sif's father today too."

Loki's lips thin. "Why?"

"Well maybe in some ways, he's right. Maybe we aren't doing enough-" Loki stares at you silently and you swallow- "maybe there's more we could do to find who did this to Thor, to the others."

"I'm doing all I can," he replies shortly. "Don't worry yourself."

Frustration makes you sigh. "But what are you doing?" you question. "Surely more of an effort could be made..."

"I don't want to talk about it."

You can't explain why you suddenly so desperately want him to give you a reason to doubt his guilt. More than ever, you wish he was the same boy you'd known all those years ago. You could read that boy. You could talk to him. Now, all you can do is insist, "But Loki, I really think-"

"I don't want to talk about Thor," he snaps.

His words make your heart sink. _Close_. Why would a murderer agree to a closer investigation of their crime? Deflated, you sink back into your seat, staring at your plate. Moisture fills your eyes, and you want to scream. Why did he have to do it? Why couldn't he have been a good man? You could have dealt with your circumstances better then.

No more is said, and you go to bed in silence. All night you lie on your side, staring blankly into the dark. Beside you, Loki's breathing is even. You don't sleep a wink.


	11. Treachery

**So here's yet another update! I'm hoping to get the next chapter out sometime this week too, but it may be a few days. I feel like I've been possessed by a writing demon tbh, I just can't stop! Anyhow, I promised you all more Loki and now I'm delivering - he's in almost every scene through this chapter (he even gets POV scene!) and writing him was SO much fun. I'm a little nervous about how it turned out, and any feedback, good or constructive criticism, is very much welcomed! Much love, and happy reading!**

 **No warnings for this chapter.**

* * *

The weeks that follow give you no clues - the blonde guardsmen that were on duty the night Lorelai was killed were all either feasting or patrolling with their comrades, and you can't send anyone to Alfheim to excavate the site of Thor's murder for fear of risking detection. As days pass, you feel more frustrated and more resigned. It appears fate is done being generous with you.

Arik is still in the guard, although he seems to be making friends. You decide not to remove him from the barracks, although Haldier thinks it should still be done. "I can't coddle him," you tell him. "He'll never fit in if people think he's being given special treatment."

He concedes that you're right, and continues to keep an eye on the young man. He tells you that Arik's attracted the attention of one of the generals - Harokin, and the man's asked to take him on as a squire. Arik is excited by the prospect and you agree, though you miss his familiar red hair about the palace.

Loki and you continue as you have been; although you're less talkative and more wary once again. You don't try to broach the subject of Thor with him a second time. After a month passes, he asks you, "Have I upset you?" There's accusation in his voice. "You've being off with me. More so than usual."

"No," you say quickly - too quickly, and his eyes narrow. "I just don't have anything to say." He looks exasperated and you use an easy excuse, "I'm bored; I miss Lorelai." It's only half-false - you _are_ bored and you _do_ miss her.

"Why don't I come with you on one of your rides?"

You glance at him. You didn't know he'd noticed that you'd started riding in the forest again. It makes you uneasy - what else did he notice that you didn't know about? "But you're so busy," you say, unwilling to cross him. It's wiser to be civil and courteous, you understand now, if you wish to regain any importance at all.

Loki narrows his eyes at you. "I can make time." There's a strange note to his words... something like a challenge, but softer. Like accommodation.

"If you can spare it. How's Odin?" You quickly seek to change the subject, hoping to distract him.

"Fine. He's awake again, but not truly up yet. Mother's forcing him to rest a while longer, to regain his strength." He says this all neutrally, but you watch him closely. Without Odin dogging his steps, Loki's become a little more easygoing, and more confident at court. Part of you hopes he'll have gained enough confidence to start dismissing his father.

You sip your wine considering your father-in-law. Maybe Frigga had been successful. "Good... That's good."

* * *

Once Magni learnt his first word, more quickly follow. _Mama_ is followed by _cat_ , which is followed by _shoe_ , which is followed by _book_. It amuses you that his vocabulary seems to have no theme, but you're proud and give him many treats each time he learns a new one.

"You spoil him," Loki notes with amusement the night after Magni says _slow_ for the first time. You've ordered stewed apple for him to celebrate; the tangy smell is muted by the sweetness of sugar mixed into the fruit, and it's Magni's favourite dessert.

"I'm only encouraging him," you say indignantly, watching as the boy carefully scoops up a little bit and brings it to his mouth. Loki says nothing, but his eyes glimmer. Suddenly he rises from his chair, and lifts the child in his arms.

You jump up, "What are you doing?"

Loki walks over to one end of the rug in front of the fire, Magni waving his spoon helplessly about in the air. He kneels and sets him down in front of him gently. You hover awkwardly - Loki has held Magni before, but only when requested. "Relax," he tells you, still amused. "Just a little experiment." The small boy is clutching onto his boot, grinning, and he steers him around to face you.

"Go to your mother," Loki prompts him with an encouraging nudge.

You sink to your knees at the other end of the rug and hold your hands forward. The gap is three foot wide at most. "Come on Magni," you coax, "come to Mama."

He wavers uncertainly, eyeing you and clutching onto Loki's sleeve at the same time. You call him again and he giggles, bouncing. Loki pushes him gently.

The boy falls down with a laugh. Loki shakes his head, "He's not even trying."

"Try again," you say, and he does, with the same results. You don't know how long the three of you stay there, trying to get Magni to walk, but finally he does so. It's just a few steps; staggering and fast and uncertain, but you're delighted and sweep him up into your arms. "Well done!" You gush. "My darling! Well done!" As you pepper his small face with kisses, Loki appears beside you - quickly and somewhat unsurely, he pats your son's head.

* * *

You get Magni to walk as much as possible after that, and soon he's wandering around for long minutes at a time. It is one such day that you are outside, letting Magni explore on his own two feet. You stand a distance away, observing him. Beside you stands Haldier, and you wait to see Arik appear. Before long he does, and he smiles to see you. He looks well you note happily - he's been given fresh armour by his new benefactor.

"Arik," you greet him warmly. "How are you? You look very dashing."

He goes a little pink and Haldier snickers. "Thank you, Your Grace," he mumbles quickly, "I'm well thank you. How are you?"

You smile at him. "I'm well too; the prince has learned how to walk and he's kept me run off my feet." Arik grins at the small golden-haired boy. You wait a moment, reluctant to continue. "I don't have any news, I'm afraid," you tell him gently. "I've been looking and asking, but there's not much to go on yet."

Arik watches Magni for a moment longer before turning his attention back to you. "It's okay," he says. There's a note of determination in his voice. "I think I might know who it is now anyway."

"Oh... You do?" Haldier shifts beside you, and you stare at Arik uncertainly.

The youth nods grimly. "Yeah. I've heard Loki was the one who did it."

You inhale sharply. Oh no. "Arik, I don't think-"

"I asked Father," the boy says in a rush. "He thinks it was Loki too."

Your eyes widen, "He does? Why?"

"Because he was angry with her! Everyone know's what Loki's like - I saw him on the battlefield."

You're hardly a fan of your husband, but something about it doesn't sit right with you. "Arik, I don't think that's true. Loki was in the feasting hall the whole time."

"He's a sorcerer," Arik replies stubbornly. "He could be in two places at once."

You don't want to fight with him so you simply press your lips together. "I can't have you near my son if you're going to start arguing with the King," you warn him. "I feel your pain Arik, I do, but this must be handled with care, do you understand?" He's silent and you narrow your eyes. "I haven't forgotten Lorelai, Arik," you say. "I want to know who did it as much as you - but I really don't believe it was Loki."

"Okay," he says simply. You watch him uncertainly and he looks around. "Can I go? I need to write a letter to my mother."

"Of course," you tell him. As he leaves, you turn to Haldier. He looks just as uncomfortable as you feel.

* * *

It appears your discomfort is unfounded. As the weeks pass, autumn ends and frost begins to appear on the ground, and Arik voices no more suspicions of Loki or anyone else. His master, the general Harokin, has done him a good turn - the boy makes friends among the soldiery, which gladdens you.

As you had suspected, Lorelai's death is forgotten; it turns into another vaguely remembered anecdote which is commented on then promptly put aside. She wasn't important enough for people to grieve for. It angers you, but you push it down. You must be patient, you tell yourself. In time, something was bound to come up. You constantly wonder what she'd wanted to tell you. There is no way of knowing.

Magni grows steady on his feet, and soon he's tearing about the palace, much to the vexation of his nursemaids. More than once you come in to find them chasing him around the room breathlessly, begging him to stop and rest. His first birthday passes - a feast is held, and it's the first celebration you've truly enjoyed in months. Odin makes slow progress - another unforeseen cause for delight - and you are spared his lectures and control.

You begin to attend court again, infrequently. The people still distrust Loki; you're not sure that will ever change, but there are no more outbursts from Harbard. In fact, you don't see him again. You enjoy the compliments from the lords and ladies when you wear a new gown or style your hair differently, and smile when Loki grants a request. You return to council meetings, where the nobles welcome you back.

It's still strange and different- but the palace begins to feel like home again.

"I think we'd best resume our walks," Loki comments one evening over dinner. "Soon - maybe tomorrow, in fact?"

You're fighting to get Magni to use a spoon, and only half-listening. "Mm, that's fine."

"I'm glad you agree." There's an amiable note in his voice, as there so often is now. You glance at him. He's leaning back in his chair, watching you with a strange light in his usually sharp eyes. You've noticed him looking at you like that a lot of late. You're not sure if you should be disturbed or pleased.

"What?" you question, grimacing as Magni wrestles with your hand.

"Nothing," Loki says at length, lifting his wine glass to his lips. Magni begins to cry and you don't think on it any longer.

The next day you rise early. It's too cold for your usual gowns, and your wardrobe is slowly filling with thick velvets and brocades. Humming to yourself, you pick out a deep grey gown with white fur trim. Yule is coming, you think to yourself as you dress for the day - and it both excites and saddens you. Your first Yule without Thor; how strange.

But you're determined not to dwell and cause yourself upset. Breakfast is served to you by a bustling woman who sweeps quickly through your chambers, picking up any stray clothing for washing, and you enjoy the creamy porridge that warms you. Mentally, you make a note to summon the head of the palace staff - fires will need to be kept lit, wood will need to be reserved, and Yuletide bonuses for the best of the servants should be decided soon. You've had gloves made for Magni, to stop his little hands from freezing, and you ensure he's well and truly bundled up before taking him down to the courtyard with you.

Haldier waits - he's become a staple of your guard now, and Magni waves at him. He smiles at the small boy and you smile at him.

Loki's already waiting, adjusting the saddle on his great black charger. He's wearing a winter cloak - the fur lining his collar is black, of course. "We're taking the horses?" you ask as you come up behind him.

He glances over his shoulder at you absently, "I thought it might be safer, in case the ground is icy." Magni wanders over to him, muttering nonsense words and Loki quickly guides him away from the huge snorting animal.

"You need a nicer horse," you tell him, eyeing the charger hesitantly.

Loki grins. "Svadilfari's just fine. Fits my reputation."

You roll your eyes at his smugness and then dive after Magni, who's decided to run full tilt across the yard. Behind you, your husband laughs as you grab the enthusiastic child and drag him back. "What a handful," he says with amusement as Magni shrieks and kicks indignantly. You thrust the struggling boy at him.

"You take him."

"I- Ah-" Loki's protests are muffled by the small lump of blonde curls and flailing limbs that deposits itself in his arms. "Freya's tits," he grits out, holding Magni as far as possible, "Would you just - there." He manages to wrestle your son onto his shoulder, where Magni perches like a small bird, amazed at all he can see from his high vantage point.

"Be careful," you fret, instinctively reaching your hands towards the boy in case he falls.

Loki catches them in his, his other hand tight on Magni's side. "Relax," he tells you lazily. He's wearing black leather gloves, and the texture is warm against your bare fingers. He brushes a thumb against your palm.

Awkwardly, you pull your hand away. Loki looks at you knowingly. There's smugness around his mouth as he passes Magni back to you.

Before long you're both up on your horses; Magni is tucked against your front as the gates open to allow you out. Arik marches in front of you, he grins at the small boy and nods respectfully to you before the procession begins. You look about. "Where's Haldier?"

"At the back," Arik says, and there he is.

Asgard in wintertime is truly wonderful. There's an anticipation of snow in the air, and you can't wait to see the golden city blanketed in a thick white carpet. You trod along at an easy pace - slow enough to wave and respond to the people who come to see you, but quick enough that you don't take up the streets for long. Loki is more reserved among them; his face is watchful, but not hard, and as you glance at his profile, the curtain of black hair that contrasts against his pale skin, you think he's rather handsome.

The thought shocks you - instantly, you flit your eyes straight ahead, and focus on paying attention to the citizens around you.

When you reach the market it's busy - there's a delicious smell in the air, and you tell Loki you want to look around. He gestures to the guard and brings his horse to a stop. Arik steps forward. "I can take him, Your Grace," he says helpfully and Loki tosses him the reins.

You smile at the boy, passing Magni down to Haldier before swinging your leg over the saddle. Two large hands rest on your waist as you slide down, ensuring you don't fall. You can't help the stiffness in your spine, but you try to smile at Loki all the same. Civil and courteous, you remind yourself. Even if the same hands that killed your husband are still on you. "Thank you," you say politely, and move away.

He drifts after you as you start towards the stand where a man is mulling wine in a hot pan. "Where's Magni?" he questions, eyes flickering about.

You point to where Haldier stands at a little distance, holding Magni's hand and pointing out strings of decorations around the marketplace. "He's fine," you tell Loki as the soldier returns your son to you, and you thank him. Loki watches Haldier retreat with a calculating gaze, and you frown to see Magni rubbing his eyes tiredly. "Did you not sleep well?" you murmur to him, bending down.

Suddenly there's a commotion - a crash and a loud, angry noise and you stand straight. Svadilfari has come loose; people shout as the tempestuous horse rears about, crashing into stalls. Loki curses and bolts after him as the great black horse careens across the market and you gasp, scooping Magni into your arms.

There's an odd feeling in the air; and suddenly you think there's too many people in the square. You can't see any of the guard - not even Haldier. You call for him, eyes flickering about nervously. There's a deafening whine of pain and in the corner of your eye Loki's horse rears, then collapses. Without a second thought, you push people out of the way, Magni crying against you.

"Loki?" you call - and then someone grabs you, and you see an angry face and a raised fist and the flash of a blade, and you shove, hard, and run.

"Guards!" You scream, tearing through the marketplace. All around you people are screaming and running, and you hear a man exclaim in pain. Suddenly someone else grabs you and you elbow them squarely in the face, before you hear them cry out.

"Your Grace!" The soldier seizes you and pulls you into a doorway. "It's me!"

"Haldier!" Your head is swimming and your heart is in your mouth, "Where's Loki, what's happening?" He slams his entire body weight against the door which you're pressed against and it opens. You scramble inside the building, clutching Magni who wails.

"The King," Haldier says, words rushed. "They're trying to kill the King." He grabs a passing woman and shoves her in beside you, "Stay with the Queen!" And he's gone - just like that, dashing into the throng. You hover in the doorway, breathing hard. You want to go; you need to know what's happening! But you can't risk Magni's safety so you stay, agitated and afraid, and try to catch a glimpse of your husband in the furor.

The woman beside you is trembling and you turn to her. "What's happening?" you demand, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"The horse," she's babbling, "the king's horse! It... It went mad! It flew straight across the market, and then His Majesty was... was there-"

"And?" you say, voice raised. "And?"

She flinches as someone runs past. "These men came, I don't know from where, and... and King Loki was trying to calm the horse! And then there were knives and shouting and I ran!"

Your mouth tastes salty and you shake her. "Who? Who were they?"

"I don't know," she sobs, "I don't know... please, please-"'

She's interrupted by your name, and you whirl around to see Loki coming towards you. His clothes are ripped and there's a cut on his cheek, but he's fine, he's _fine_ , and you stumble out to meet him. He grabs your arms - Magni is still crying - and looks you and the child over frantically. "Loki, " you say, and his fingers tighten on your sleeves, "Loki."

"You're alright?" he demands, voice hard and you nod, "you're alright?"

"Yes, ye-"

"The boy?" His eyes run over Magni and you nod, holding him close.

"We're fine, we're okay, Loki-"

He's pulling you along with him as he turns and crosses the marketplace, and you struggle to keep up with his rapid pace. HE comes to a dizzying stop in front of a wall of golden-armoured guards; the Einherjar, you realise with relief, and they part to show two men and a woman pressed against the wall, their faces stark and angry. You recognise Harbard immediately - _of course_ , you think, _of course_.

"There's more," you hear a familiar voice say, and relief washes over you again as Haldier appears. There's blood on his armour. "We're hunting them down now, Sire."

The rustle of struggling limbs is heard - and then you feel your face drop as Arik is shoved up to the wall beside the other perpetrators. He looks at you widely, afraid, and you stare back at him unbelieving.

"Good." Loki's voice is as sharp as a whip. "Good."

* * *

Haldier is true to his word - a mere hour later and he has stormed the city and hunted down the rest of the would-be assassins. Loki sends you back to the palace with a considerable army of guardsmen; he commands you to go straight to your quarters and wait for him. You're too shaken to argue.

Inside, you wait anxiously, as the day turns to noon and then to evening. When the sun is setting and pink streaks are marking the sky, you scramble to your feet when a knock comes at the door.

Loki enters and you close and lock it again quickly. He's dressed in his armour - it makes him look tall and severe. All the easiness that had been on his face in the morning is gone. His cut is healing. You go towards him, "Loki-"

He raises a finger. "I will ask you this only once," he says, with icy composure. Your brows pull together as you stare at him, trying to figure out what he's going to ask. "Did you know?"

Your eyes widen. "Did I... know?"

"Don't lie." His words are stony. "I can tell when you lie."

"I'm not- No, I didn't know! How can you think that?"

Loki lists off reasons effortlessly, and you realise with a start that he must have been thinking about it all day. "The boy, Erik-"

"Arik."

"- you asked for him to be brought into our household. You asked to stop in the marketplace. You went to your mother's house and only took two guards in with you overnight; one of which was the aforementioned Arik, and had the rest of my soldiers stay separately in the village. You were sympathetic to Harbard - and the whole _world_ knows what you think of me. Is that enough, My Lady, or shall I continue?"

"That's quite enough!" You reply, with a high voice.

Loki is unmoved. "Very well. So, did you know?"

"No," you whisper. "No, I didn't know." He holds your gaze for a long moment, before his shoulders slump. Strangely, you don't feel angry at him. You step towards him, unsure. Perhaps you ought to reach out to him; embrace him or console him, you are his wife, after all. But you can't bring yourself to - instead you say, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he says tiredly. "I'm fine."

* * *

Several days pass. Asgard is in uproar. Wild ludicrous tales fly around - some say Loki singlehandedly killed the whole party, some say he fled and cowered. Others say it was a plot orchestrated by himself, to gain sympathy. They are utterly ridiculous, and you fear if you roll your eyes any harder they'll fall out of your head. But you cannot pretend to be unaffected. The guards on every corner of the palace are a constant reminder that you had come close - scarily close - to having Magni torn away from you, and you retreat to your quarters for safety.

Loki visits you every day to ask how you are, how Magni is, if you want more guards, if there's more you think should be done. It's odd and unpleasant, that you feel somewhat safer when he's close - it's a betrayal of the husband who watches from Valhalla. But you can't help it, not when he's so intent on keeping Magni safe and well.

"We're fine," you assure him for the fourth day in a row. You don't tell him that you've started locking the door to your chamber at night now. "Loki, you must calm down."

"I'm calm," he replies immediately, raking a hand through his hair. "I'm perfectly calm."

You glance at him doubtfully. "Sit with me?" you ask, and he collapses onto the couch. A crease appears on your brow - he's wearing the same clothes for the third time now, which is unlike him, and you can smell the sweat from him. "Have you bathed?"

"I've been a little busy," he snaps.

You roll your eyes in annoyance at his tone. "Loki," you say tersely, "you must calm down."

"How am I meant to do that?" he demands harshly. "In case you've not noticed, there are a group of people who want me killed-"

"We have them in the cells-"

"- who want you killed-"

"Loki-"

"- and I have people demanding death in one ear, and other begging me for mercy in the other! So forgive me if I seem a little tense!"

" _Loki_." There's a voice you use - one you'd used with Thor only a handful of times, and one you've used with Magni only once. It never fails. Loki stops his tirade, chest rising and falling rapidly. You take a breath, "I'm only wondering how you are. I'm not criticising you."

He's silent; lips pressed tightly together. You take in the dark circles under his eyes. "Have you slept?" He nods jerkily and you sigh. "Ate?" He shakes his head, black hair swinging with the movement. "I'll have some food brought up," you say, rising to fetch a guard. When you return, he's still sat there, a fist pressed against his mouth. You can see him brooding.

Delicately, you sit next to him. The leather of his trousers brush your skirt. "What's going on?" you ask him softly. "When's the trial?"

"Two days hence. I've had to postpone it; we've been looking for witnesses, taking statements, dealing with plea requests..." He trails off. Then he spits suddenly, "I'm going to kill them all."

His vicious words don't surprise you - what else could he do to grown adults who'd tried to murder him? You lay a hand on his forearm in silence. He continues. "Volstagg's wife has been to see me so _many_ times. She's claiming it was all Harbard's idea."

"Was it?"

"I don't know. Even if it was, Alaric and Gunnhild won't say a word, save that I deserve this."

Alaric and Gunnhild - Volstagg's eldest two children, they were older than both yourself and Loki. You sigh. "They should have known better," you mutter. "Their poor mother." Loki says nothing, but you can feel the tension radiating from him. "What else?"

"Harokin's entire legion are up in arms." He laughs shortly. "It's almost an act of mutiny - and half of them are saying they'll desert Asgard if I'm not lenient."

"Lenient?" you ask, flabbergasted. "They do realise he committed treason?"

"They're loyal," Loki says grimly. "He's been a great general - truly, one of my best. Such a waste."

You're silent before asking, "And Harbard-"

"Will die." Loki's voice is blunt. "No doubt about it; even if the others are exiled, he must die. He stood in the throne room, bold as brass, and admitted everything. He has no shame," he spits. "I suppose it makes my job easier."

"It does," you murmur. You think of Sif, and close your eyes. Such a waste - so much hatred, and it only resulted in more and more bloodshed. But you're relieved that at least Loki seems to be taking no enjoyment from this; you'd expected him to be gleeful, full of satisfaction when he finally got to silence his dissenters. The food arrives and you both eat in silence.

Afterwards, when he's stopped picking at his plate, you ask again. "Loki?" He glances at you. "What about Arik?" Your voice only shakes a little.

His hands twist uncomfortably. "He's very young," Loki says soberly. A lump appears in your throat. "I haven't spoken to him yet."

"I could do it." It's a better idea and you know it. "He'll likely be more forthcoming with me." Loki nods, and no more is said.

* * *

The following day, you're sitting at your window. Your fingers skim over the strings of the harp uselessly. "Your Grace," the Einherjar speaks and a you look up in surprise. You've grown unused to receiving guests, "someone to see you." When he steps aside to allow the red-haired man into the room, your stomach plummets.

Arik and Lorelai's father stands looking at you, and you stand. "Ragi-"

"Please." His voice is broken, desperate. "Please. He's a boy."

"I-"

"He's young," the man blurts out, clearly panicked. "If anyone should be punished it should be me; I'm his father, I'm responsible for him." You speak again, to try and calm him and the fear in his eyes grieves you. "Please, Your Grace," he repeats, "not my son too."

You wait for him to catch him breath before speaking. It's difficult to look at him. "Ragi," you take his hands in yours. "Nothing has been done yet - the trial hasn't even passed. Arik has angered the King, but I am sure we will get to the-"

"It was that Harbard," Ragi interrupts again, new pain in his voice. "He told him such things, led him astray - he's a good boy, a kind boy! He would never do something like that of his own accord-"

"I know," you say, "I know."

He finally calms a little, hands shaking. "You do?"

"I do," you tell him, though you're not sure what to believe. "Please, be calm. All will be revealed in the trial. Loki," you have faith in what you say, "is not so cruel as to kill a child for the actions of adults."

* * *

After Ragi has left; still pale and shaken, but with your assurances of a fair hearing, you go straight to the dungeons. The boy is in a corner, curled up with his hands around his knees. He's staring at the floor and you step close to the bars. "Arik?"

He jumps, startled; and then relief washes over his features as he recognises you. He scrambles up from the floor and flies to the wall where the thin golden barrier shines. "Careful!" He skids to a halt. "Bumping into this hurts." You looks him over from head to toe; he's pale and blotchy and his clothes are crumpled, but he doesn't looks mistreated. Inside, you are filled with relief.

"I'm sorry," he says instantly, and you can hear a waver in his voice. "I didn't know... I didn't know they were going to hurt you! Or the prince! I didn't know..."

Alarmed, you sink to the floor and beckon him to do the same. Arik slumps down, and you can see tears in his eyes. "Arik, why?" you ask desperately.

The boy's beside himself. "I didn't know," he repeats, "I didn't know!"

It's clear he needs time, but you can't just sit there while he suffers so. "Open the cell," you command the Einherjar stationed outside. He balks and you raise your voice, "Do it!"

When the barrier comes down, you lean forward and Arik grips you tightly. He's shaking and you rub his back soothingly. "It's alright," you tell him, like you would Magni. "It's alright."

"I'm sorry," he sobs, "I'm sorry."

After several minutes, he calms, and you pull away gently. "Arik, please. I need to know what happened. How did you-"

"Harbard said he had a plan," he blurts out, clearly too upset to care about angering the other man, "He said Loki killed my sister, and that he wouldn't stop." Your heart sinks; you should have listened to Haldier and had him removed from the barracks. "They didn't say anything about hurting anyone! I asked what they wanted to do and they said they wanted to get Loki to confess!"

"You agreed?"

He nods, eyes still wet. "I thought they might kidnap him, maybe slap him around a little. I didn't think they were trying to kill anyone; not you or the prince, not even the King! They said they'd make him tell me who killed Lorelai-" his voice breaks. "They only said I had to let go of the horse!"

You're speechless. How could adults - most of them fathers and mothers themselves - take advantage of such a naive child's grief? You shake away your anger, not wanting Arik to think it was directed at him. "It's alright," you tell him softly, "It's alright. I'll tell Loki, and he'll know."

"You will?"

"Of course I will. But Arik," you take his hands. "You know it's likely you won't be able to stay in Asgard. You won't be allowed to be a soldier any more."

"That's okay," he says, although you hear a tremor in his voice. "I can go away."

You nod, still holding his hands. _Norns, Nine, Thor,_ you pray. Whatever was out there and listening, you hope you can help the boy.

* * *

When you leave the prison, you go straight to the throne room. It's empty, so you turn on your heel and go to the council room. Without knocking the door, you enter, eyes darting over the room. He's sat at the head of the table, staring blankly. You cross the room and stand in front of him. "Loki."

He rubs his temples. "What?" On the table in front of him are several sheafs of paper - death warrants, you realise with dread.

"Have you made a decision?"

He sways a little, "Almost." Your eyes drop down to the papers again; the top one is signed. "The main ringleaders will have to die, obviously."

"And who would they be?"

"Harbard, Alaric, Gunnhild, Harokin..." He pauses.

Sif's father, Volstagg's eldest son and daughter, and a rebellious general. Your stomach sinks. "And Arik?" Loki's eyes shift. "Loki," you say tremulously. "You _can't_."

"He committed treason - he tried to murder his king!" The black-haired man argues back with you, but it's a half-hearted attempt.

"He's little more than a boy! They convinced him you killed his sister; he thought they would make you confess-"

"And how did he _think_ they'd do that? Pretty words?"

"-he didn't know it was an assassination plot!"

You fall into the chair beside him. Loki's mouth is downturned. He looks far from happy. "If you do this," you say gravely, "all those who think you're nothing but a murderer - that you enjoy nothing but killing, will be proven right. You won't win, Loki. All you'll do is inflame more hatred and suspicion. Sometimes," you take his hand that lies on the table, "sometimes showing mercy can be the wisest course."

He's silent; beneath your touch, his fingers twitch. "Sometimes," he says quietly, "it can also be the most foolish."

"Thor would never have-"

"I am _not_ Thor."

Not so long ago, you would have snapped back - _that is obvious_ \- but now you pause. "I know," you say instead. Loki looks at you. "Thor never had to make this decision, but you do. And Loki," you lean forward and his eyes follow you, "I know that you don't want to kill a boy. I know it."

"Do you?" he asks.

You swallow and nod. "Yes," you whisper. "There was a time when I would have believed the worst of you, but now..." You shake your head. "I don't believe you're that kind of man."

Loki cocks his head to one side. "Really? And what kind of man do you think I am?"

"I'm still deciding."

He's quiet, and his gaze falls to your lips. Suddenly, you're reminded of Lorelai, and her comment that Loki wanted ' _something else_ ' from you. You had dismissed her, and yet... his eyes are still lingering. Slowly, he reaches up - this is the closest you've been to him voluntarily in years - and his thumb traces your cheekbone.

If there was ever a time to test her theory, then surely it was now. Before you can lose your nerve, you hear yourself say to him, "I'll make you a deal."

Loki freezes. "What?"

"I'll give you something." You can't believe the words that are coming out of your mouth. "If you promise to be merciful to the boy, then I'll give you something."

"What kind of something?"

He sounds wary, and more than a little curious. You take a breath, "Anything you want." He's staring directly at you, and for a horrible moment you're afraid that you've overestimated yourself and he'll laugh at you. But Loki doesn't laugh. He looks far from amused; you can practically see the cogs whirring behind his eyes.

Slowly, he leans towards you, close enough that you can feel his cool breath on your skin. He bends down, nose skimming your cheek, and you stay perfectly still. You feel the tips of his fingers on your neck, tracing your pulse, his feather-light touch making the skin prickle.

Then he straightens.

"Very well," he agrees coolly, though there is a little strain in his voice. "I want a kiss." Relief floods your chest; that was all? You could give a kiss, short and sweet. Quickly, you move forward - but he catches you with one hand. "Mm." There's a strange quality in his tone, and he looks down at you, "I want a kiss like the ones you gave _him_."

Him?

Your stomach sinks as you realise who he's talking about, and you pause. A single kiss was nothing - but to kiss someone the way you had kissed Thor? You'd loved him with all you had; it wasn't something you could just fake. But Loki is watching you, and you realise grimly that you have to try... even if it is a betrayal of your husband's memory.

The difference is that Thor had never really made you feel nervous - of course you'd been giddy and self-conscious the first few times he'd kissed you and when you'd lain together, but there was something warm and welcoming about him that had eased that away quickly. Loki makes you nervous. He's tall and dark and formidable, and his eyes are always full of intent. Your nerves sing as you stare up at him.

Loki stares back.

Slowly, you reach to touch his face; his jaw is sharp and smooth under your hands, and you push away the feelings of doubt. Letting your eyes fall closed, you pull his lips down to meet yours. Loki is still and unmoving beneath your touch, but his lips are softer than you'd expected. You think of Thor for a moment, and pour all your affection into the kiss - and suddenly Loki is kissing you back, his hands coming up to clutch you tightly, roaming over your neck, along your back, tangling in your hair.

You gasp into his mouth and he swallows it, his tongue swiping over your bottom lip. You whimper a little and let him in, and the kiss deepens, making your head spin. You can smell nothing but him.

Loki's hands slide down your front; he pulls on the bodice laces of your gown and it gapes open, allowing him to slide his hands around your waist. He continues to kiss you, hands travelling to your back and pressing against the skin there. When you pull away for air, he's not dissuaded - he simply moves his lips to your neck and suckles a bruise into your skin.

It's only when his hands come out of your dress and begin to hike your skirt upwards that you push him away. "You said just a kiss," you gasp, catching your breath. Loki's still close to you; his fists clench tightly.

"A mistake I won't make again," he says breathlessly, eyes on your red mouth. You're suddenly very aware that you just kissed Loki, and that your dress is open, and that his hands have been all over you. Blood rises in your cheek and the more you try to suppress it the worse it gets; awkwardly you stand and turn, redoing the laces with shaking fingers.

You feel excited.

You feel sick.

When the dress is safely closed up again you turn back to him. Loki hasn't moved, his eyes somewhere beside your head.

"You'll keep your end?" you question him.

He nods.

When you step out of the room, still trembling, you feel calmer. You don't completely trust Loki, but surely he'll keep this promise? You could tell he'd been looking for an excuse to pardon Arik even before you had offered a solution. As you return to your chambers, a famiiiar grey head crosses your path. Internally you sigh. "Allfather." It's easier to be polite when you haven't had to take his orders. "How are you?"

"Where is my son?" Odin demands without preamble. Your fingers curl.

"The council chamber." Odin nods curtly, and goes to brush past you. You turn after him, "They aren't in session-"

"I heard about the marketplace," he interrupts you. Somehow, his one eye manages to look at you disapprovingly, even though you've done nothing wrong. "I'm sure it'll be a relief to you to have the guilty party punished."

You incline your head. "It will, Allfather. I only hope that both justice and mercy are disposed-"

"Mercy?" His voice is sharp. "What mercy can there be for traitors?"

With a annoyed sigh, you reply. Why do you even bother making conversation with the man? "I only meant that there are those who know better and those who do not; it would be a cruel shame to punish one for the crimes of another."

"What are you talking about?"

You've lost your patience with the old man. "Nothing, Allfather," you reply as nicely as you're able.

Odin looks at you for a long moment, then turn on his heel and continues along the corridor. You roll your eyes at his back and depart.

* * *

When you're gone, Loki can't stay still. His heart is beating much quicker than usual, much more than he liked, and he excuses himself from council meetings early and goes to his chambers.

Once he's inside with the door barred, he paces. You'd felt even better than he dreamed; having you real and solid and warm under his hands had felt like pure divinity and his blood races.

Loki has never considered himself anything but a realist - he knows it's not want or desire which had prompted you to agree, but it's enough. And given the flush in your cheeks and surprise in your eyes, he begins to wonder if perhaps, one day, he'll be able to kiss you as he pleases.

It's a delicious, intoxicating thought. Patience, he tells himself harshly, have patience. You've been stubborn from the moment he met you all those years ago; it will take more than a single kiss to overturn years of bad blood.

But it's a start.

There's a knock at his chamber door and he inhales at the intrusive noise. "Who is it?"

"Your father. Open the door, Loki."

Loki hesitates, slow to initiate discussion with the trying man. The past few weeks free from his overbearing shadow have been a breath of fresh air. But Odin is the Allfather, and he is Loki's father, so Loki begrudgingly acquiesces. The old man enters his room, still slower than usual, looking about critically and it sets Loki's nerves on edge immediately. "Father," he says warily. "What is it?"

Odin turns to him. "I hear you're sentencing the traitors tomorrow. I've come to give you strength."

The insinuation stings. "Thank you for your concern," Loki mutters. Odin looks at him closely.

"I know I've been hard on you," the Allfather says suddenly. "No doubt you resent my input." He sighs, and Loki shifts uncomfortably. It's unlike Odin to speak so frankly. What is he expected to say? "I only wanted to help you," he says, stepping forward.

Loki's brows raise as Odin puts a hand on his shoulder. "I've been hard on you, and you've surpassed my expectations every time," he says suddenly. All Loki can do is stare. Is this what it was like to have been Thor? He can almost forgive his brother for being so happy all the time.

"It will be difficult tomorrow," Odin warns. "Thor was never good at such matters. But you've got a stronger stomach in you." He sounds proud, almost. Loki swallows. His father continues, "It's important to take the right advice; not to be waylaid by those who do not truly understand what it is to make such decisions. Traitors," he looks Loki straight in the eye, "are a danger to us all; a danger that must be dealt with swiftly."

"What are you saying?" Loki demands, but his voice comes out less harshly than he'd hoped. Odin squeezes his shoulder, and the strength in such an old man's grip surprises him.

"Only that I know you'll make me proud."

* * *

 **So... I really hope Loki is still in character - I don't want to soften him too much so that it's unbelievable. One thing I will mention is that if you're wondering why he's not like "lol lets just kill everyone who was involved problem solved"; it's because I don't think that's how he thinks? He's definitely pragmatic and ruthless, but even when people (the W3/Sif/Heimdall) committed treason against in the movies, he wasn't rushing to have them executed. Not that he's a good person, but I don't think he kills indiscriminately. I'm really trying to get that delicate balance between good and bad. Hope you liked it!**


	12. The Serpent

**This chapter was so. long. I cut it down from about 10k words - but even that was with several scenes taken out and put into the next chapter! This one remains at a hefty 7.5k, and there's about 4k worth of words already in the next one...**

 **There ARE warnings for this chapter: see end notes.**

* * *

Loki pushes the trial and executions back one day, and then another. Your first instinct is to worry, but you take care to remember his promise. It is no easy thing sentencing people to die; Thor had done so only twice in his tenure as king and you remember well the toll it had taken. For such a fearsome warrior he'd been a forgiving man - it had not been in his nature to sit and pick who would die and who would live. In fact, he'd spoken to you once of abolishing capital punishment in favour of prison sentences or exile - but Odin had put a stop to that.

Odin. The Allmother tells you they are both happy to see you and Loki on civil terms, but you doubt the old man cares. He's preoccupied with his second son of late, although he's still weaker than before. When you go to visit Loki, to check on how he is the day before the execution, the Allfather is already there.

You eye him as you round the table where Loki sits. Odin eyes you back. "I thought we could have lunch together," you say to your husband.

"We're very busy," Odin replies, though you had not been addressing him. "As you know, Loki has a decision of great importance to make."

You do your best not to glare at the old man - _it's already been made_ , you think smugly. Instead you say, "I know. I'm only making sure he's eating." You turn back to Loki. His gaze flickers between you and his father. You lay a hand on his armoured shoulder. "I could have food sent to you, if it's easier?"

Loki nods, seeming distracted. "That would be much appreciated, thank you my dear."

His dear? Since when had you become his dear? You smile at him, a little out of sorts, and walk from the room. Behind you, Odin speaks, "Now Loki..."

That night you meet Loki in his chambers for dinner. He's withdrawn and pensive, even when you offer to bring Magni in. The child amuses Loki - something you're not sure what to make of - but it's better than the rivalry you'd feared your husband would view him with. "No," he says. His brow is furrowed. "I'm tired."

Soon enough the meal is completed in quietness, and then he disappears into the bathroom to undress. You wait your turn patiently.

When you've prepared for bed, plaiting your hair for sleep as is your habit, the chambers are dim. The fire crackles in the hearth and the curtains are drawn; Loki's already sitting on the mattress. You drift over to your side of the bed - it's a little cool in the room, and you remind yourself to have the servants build a stronger fire tomorrow.

"Do you have any blankets?" you ask Loki. He rises and goes to his armoire, reaching down. He pauses, hand outstretched, staring down at something. Then he closes the door and drops a thick woollen blanket on the bed. You mutter a thanks and spread it over yourself, settling down comfortably.

But while you're close to sleeping, Loki's lying straight and tense on his back. You glance at him. He's staring at the ceiling, face blank and unreadable. Hesitantly, you say his name, and his eyes move to you. Oddly, he reminds you of Thor - the restless silence, the look he takes on when he's struggling with something. You reach your hand across the space in the bed and slip your fingers gently over his. Loki pauses; then you feel his fingers, so much longer and stronger than your own, twist and curl around yours.

* * *

The next morning you rise with heaviness in your chest. Loki is already gone from bed. You go to the window, where the curtains gape slightly - parting them, you can see people milling about in the courtyard, hear noises as the execution stand is raised.

There are things you need to do; you think of Magni as you get ready, realising that you won't have time to see him until the day is over. You hope he's not upset by it, but it cannot be helped. The trials commence soon, and you need to visit Arik. When you do, it's clear he's anxious - there are rings around his eyes and his hair is scrumpled.

You'd stopped in the kitchens beforehand; concern grows in your stomach as the young man wolfs the bread and meat down. His hands shake when he drinks his mead.

"Don't choke," you remind him.

Arik slows his furious chewing. "Sorry, your Grace."

You shake your head. "It's alright." You wait until he swallows to tell him the news, "Your parents are here."

"They are?" Arik's face shines with relief, before clouding again. "Are they angry?"

"No," you assure him, "they're not angry, just worried for you." You glance around. Where is Haldier? "I'm bringing them to see you."

To your dismay, the boy looks horrified. "No," he says, "no, I don't want them to see me like this! They'll be so ashamed, so embarrassed of me-"

"Arik, they're not, I promise; they're worried for you. It will do your mother and father good to see you before the trial," you console him. He goes paler at the mention of the trial; it's but a matter of hours now, and you can barely imagine how he feels. But that's why you've arranged this little meeting - you want to comfort the family of your dearly missed friend.

He resumes eating, full of muted worry now, and you wait impatiently. Finally, Haldier appears, two figures hurrying after him and Arik jumps to his feet. "Mother! he cries, rushing to the barrier, "Father!"

His parents call out to him; the barrier comes down just in time to let them in and you step back quickly as they embrace their son. He's crying and apologising and begging them - they try to calm him, but their anxiety is evident. When they've began to speak, you intercede. "Arik." The family hush and turn to you. You step close so that you won't be overheard.

"I've spoken to the King," you inform them quietly. "He'll be exiled, but not executed."

His mother cries out in tearful relief, hugging the boy close to her. Ragi stands with an arm around them both. "You're sure? He'll be pardoned?" he asks. You nod - there's no way that Loki could have changed his mind, given his difficulty with the situation over the past days. "I'm sure," you tell him. "He gave me his word."

Slowly, Ragi nods. He looks wary, but relieved. "Thank you," he says, and his voice is choked.

* * *

Your hands are clasped on your lap tightly. The throne room is uneasily quiet - Harbard , Alaric, and Gunnhild had all roared with fury when their sentences had been passed. Harokin's trial had been the most trying; the man had many supporters and his reason - to avenge the murders of Thor and his companions - had only inflamed his popularity. He'd laughed when Loki had sentenced him to death.

The four whose trials have passed have been escorted to the dungeons to say a final farewell to their loved ones; but there is one more yet to come. The large doors creak open, and a skinny figure appears, flanked by two impassive guards. Arik comes to stand before Loki's throne, and you're proud to see he's steady on his feet. Behind you, Loki begins to speak.

"Arik, son of R-"

There's a gentle squeak as another door opens, and Loki pauses, his brow creasing. You follow his line of sight to see the Allfather crossing the room. Beside him a servants carries a chair - he darts up the steps and sets it on the dais beside Hlidskjalf. Your eyes follow Odin as he passes you to sit at his son's side.

A beat passes and then Loki proceeds. "Arik, son of Ragi - you are summoned here to today to answer for your crimes; treason against your king, aiding and abetting conspirators, and disturbing the peace. You are a citizen of Asgard?"

"Yes Sire."

"Squire to General Harokin?"

"Yes Sire."

"Do you deny the charges brought against you?"

"No Sire." Arik's voice trembles a little. You glance at Loki. He doesn't look at you.

Loki's voice is cool and neutral. "What have you to say for yourself?"

The chains around Arik's wrists clink as he shifts and takes a breath. "I..." His eyes fly to you, scared, and you nod imperceptibly with a tiny, encouraging lift to your lips. He takes another breath. "I've done wrong, Sir- Your Majesty. I know I have. I didn't think anyone was going to die, or that anybody was going to try and kill-"

Loki interrupts him, "Why don't you tell us from the start, how you came to be involved. Was this your idea?"

"No Sire!"

"But you were part of the orchestration?"

Arik's face pales. "Yes, Sire. I'm sorry Sire."

Loki's voice is a little less severe. "Go on."

This time the youth wastes no time in launching into his story. "After my sister - Lorelai - died, my parents left Asgard but I wanted to stay and find out who did it. I wanted to be a soldier too, and the Queen, she was my sister's friend, she asked my father if I could stay. They asked you Sire; you remember, if they could go and I could be here-"

"I remember."

"- and then I was a guard here in the Queens household; with you too Sire."

The Allfather's voice speaks, and his words fill you with irritation. It is not his place to intervene in the King's trial. "What did the Queen have you do while you were in her guard?"

Discreetly, you look towards Odin. He is watching the boy intently. Arik takes a moment before answering, a little confused. "Only things I was capable of doing, Allfather. I was to guard the Prince and the Queen, and take over for some of the guards when they needed a break. Mostly she let me train with the soldiers - I'm not one yet, but..." He trails off, and your chest tightens for him. He will never be a soldier now.

Loki speaks. "I know this. What happened to involve you in this treason?"

Arik rocks on his feet. "I was training, and my master - General Harokin said I had a natural talent for the sword, Sire. He asked to take me on and train me, and the Queen said yes, so I did."

"This is the same General Harokin who was sentenced today?"

"Yes Sire."

Loki is silent as a murmur goes up, and you smile at Arik encouragingly. All he had to do was tell the truth, and all would be well. Unsure, the youth continues. "I was there for some time and he asked me about my family, so I told him about my sister. I was still looking - I'm still looking, Sire, for who killed her - and he said he'd do his best to help. He said no Asgardian citizen should suffer so."

Another murmur, one of agreement. Loki gestures and he goes on. "Then after some time he said he'd heard a rumour Sire." Here, Arik hesitates. He begins to twist his hands anxiously, and you lean forward a little.

"Go on," you say softly. He looks at you with wide eyes, and you can see him begin to shake. "It's alright," you tell him. "The king just needs to know what happened." You glance at Loki, who nods silently. Odin frowns at you.

You hold his gaze. If he can intercede in the trial, then so can you - you are the Queen.

Arik takes a moment to gather himself and then begins again. "Master Harokin said that my sister was killed just after she's upset you... Sire. He said that many people had reason to believe you'd killed her in anger, for embarrassing you and spreading lies." His voice breaks with tears, "Lorelai wasn't a liar, she wasn't bad. She just..." He looks down and his shoulders shake.

"We are not here to talk about your sister," Loki says. "I understand you're grieving, but this trial is about you."

The boy nods miserably, bringing his chained hands up to wipe his cheeks. "I'm sorry Sire." Loki waits as he sniffles, and you're proud of him for being patient. "So, Master Harokin said it was probably you - and I said we didn't know, because it was a very large accusation to make, but he said there was a way we could find out. He said that there were others who had family who... you had... you know. And he let me have meals sometimes with him and Alaric and Gunnhild, and Harbard was there too."

You look to your husband. Loki's eyes meet yours, and he looks unsettled.

"And they said that if they could get you alone and make you tell them the truth, then we would all know what was happening. I just wanted to know who killed my sister, Sire, I didn't want to-"

"How were you involved in the plot?" Odin interrupts him.

Arik answers him quickly. "Because I was in your household guard, they said I could help them to reach you. So when you all went on your procession, with the horses, they said that if I could let go of the horse, because it's a wild thing Sire, then it would distract people long enough for them to question you."

"And how did you think they'd question me, Arik?" Loki sounds exasperated and you send the boy a gentle look.

"I don't know!" The young man is wretched. "I thought they might hit you a bit, but you're a warrior and I've seen you fight - I didn't think they wanted to kill you, or that they could, and I had no idea that anyone was going to try and hurt the Prince or the Queen-"

"But they did, Arik," Loki says calmly. "Do you understand how serious this was? That your actions almost led to the deaths of the entire royal family?"

Arik shakes again. "I know Sire, I know. I'm in the wrong."

Before Loki can reply Odin's voice comes, imperious and loud. "You're not merely in the wrong - you're a traitor to your king and your country. You knew that your master wanted to harm the King in some way and you still agreed to it. Cowardly, you try to hide your crimes behind the excuse of other men." You whip your head round to the Allfather with a venomous glare.

"I'm sorry," Arik's crying, "I'm sorry! I didn't think, I didn't know they wanted to- I was stupid-"

You swallow, and behind you, Loki sighs deeply. He sounds frustrated. "Alright, stop that. There's no need for tears."

Arik immediately tries to stop crying, "I'm sorry, Sire."

"Still," Odin's voice is cold. "You cannot deny that you have committed treason."

"No, Allfather, I do not deny it. I just wanted-"

"Your wants count for nothing. Your actions are despicable, and-"

"Father," Loki interrupts. "Enough. The trial is over." Your eyes widen and you look between your husband and father-in-law. Below you, Arik watches with his mouth agape. Loki rises, and you automatically rise with him. "Go back to your cell; I will make a decision presently."

The boy looks to you in terror, and you do your best to reassure him with your eyes before he's led out of the room. All around you, the court talks furiously.

You catch Loki's sleeve as he descends the steps - behind him, Odin pauses, and you stare at him hardly until he continues on his way. Loki's face is tense and you can detect discomfort in his eyes. "Loki..."

"I need to think," he interrupts you. He pinches his nose tiredly, and takes a breath. "I need to sit and think, and have a bloody drink." He drops his hand and sighs, "You should go and get ready. The executions will be soon."

"Loki," you move closer to him, hand still on his sleeve, "you promised..."

"I know," he says. Behind him, Odin calls him imperiously and the sound makes your blood boil. But he remembers, you think with relief, he remembers his promise. "Go," Loki says to you, quietly. "Go and get ready."

Reluctantly, you let go of him and watch as he descends the steps. As he crosses the room to the adjoining council chamber, Odin marches behind him.

* * *

Public state affairs require more ceremony than usual; you are dressed in rich velvet and thick furs as befits the season. A string of jewels are tied around your throat and a heavy golden girdle rests on your hips. Atop your head rests a golden band studded with tiny amethysts and sapphires.

From your window you can see the execution stand has been raised and finished; around it citizens have began to congregate. The sky is light and grey with winter frost, and though no snow has yet appeared, you know you will be grateful for your warm furs when you are sat outside. Your thoughts turn to those in the dungeon. Though you've no love nor much sympathy for most of them, the thoughts of their families - the loved ones who will be left alone, causes your heart to be heavy.

You think of Arik, in the dark with his parents. _Thank the Norns_ , you think, that Loki remembers his promise. Despite all he has done, you trust him in this. You have no choice. That alone is what keeps you from feeling overly dismal about the proceedings.

Still, you won't relax until Arik is officially pardoned, and you're impatient to have it happen. The hour that passes is long and dragging, and then finally, you are escorted down through the palace out to the ground, where the crowds wait.

To your surprise Odin is already sat on the podium, in the chair next to Loki's right. As you join him and take your seat on Loki's left, you study him. His face is placid. "Allfather," you say, "Where is Frigga?"

"Inside. You know she finds such affairs trying."

It's true; Frigga has never liked trials and executions. You continue, "I am surprised to find you here in such harsh weather. Aren't you supposed to be resting?"

"It appears I have rested enough," Odin replies. There's something, an accusatory inflection in his voice that makes you bristle, and you sit back in your seat silently, waiting. As you do, the line of prisoners filter out, gated in by the Einherjar. You catch Arik's red hair in the middle of them.

Your fingers drum against the arms of your chair uncomfortably. It's cold and you can only imagine how the boy must be feeling. You wish your husband would hurry.

Finally, Loki appears - you feel him brush against the back of your chair and the muttering crowd goes quiet. On the stage, the condemned watch him. Harbard's eyes are full of hate, as are Gunnhild's. Her brother seems nervous, though he stands tall and unapologetic and asks for no mercy. Beside him, Harokin looks almost bored - _cocky_ , you think with annoyance. The man had no regard for anyone; not even a youth desperate for answers. Had it not been for him, Arik would be removed from this mess. The thought inflames you.

Arik stands next to his master, and though he's a young man he seems much smaller when stood next to fit and seasoned soldiers. You smile at him gently, and mouth, ' _soon_.' He nods shakily and swallows, staring down at his feet.

Beside you, Loki sits, expression grim. You reach over and lay your hand on his wrist. He flexes his hand away from you, and you draw back, a little stung. But your hurt wanes - it is a trying time, and you can't blame him for being on edge. The first name is read out and you move your eyes forward.

"Lord Harbard. You are accused of treason against His Majesty; including attempted murder, kidnapping, and conspiracy. By the King's will, you are found guilty. If you've any last words, say them now."

Harbard is nudged forward; he elbows the guards back with a bitter sneer. "Aye, guilty. And I've no remorse for it," he states loudly. Loki's hands curl into fists. The man raises his shackled hands in Loki's direction. "There sits the man who murdered my daughter!" He bellows. "And I will never apologise nor bend my knee to him. He's no King of mine."

With that, he drops to his knees and throws back his head. "Come on then!" Sif's father roars, and the axe is swung up and down and a cry goes up as his head hits the stage, metres away from his body. The action makes you recoil; but you are a Queen and well versed in how to contain yourself, so you only inhale deeply.

Loki's face is hard and he stares ahead with determined green eyes as Gunnhild Volstaggsdottir is called forward. The same words are repeated, and she says nothing, only spits in Loki's direction before primly lowering herself to her knees. The axe slices through the air and through her flesh, and her head rolls. You inhale again, but do not recoil.

Alaric is called; like his sister, he says nothing, only goes to his knees and accepts his fate with stony silence. Another swing, another death, and you close your eyes. Blood leaks across the small stage. It drips slowly onto the ground and people move away from the dark puddle that forms.

Then Harokin's name is called. He steps forward, that same relaxed expression on his face. "Come now Loki, be reasonable," he says and the crowd stirs. You glance at your husband, who stares back at the cocky Asgardian. The general continues, "We both know killing me does you no good. I'm an excellent general - I've served Asgard well, and will continue to do so."

"You should have thought of Asgard before you tried to murder me," Loki says coldly.

Harokin's eyes harden. "My men will not stand for this," he says. "You know as well as I how loyal soldiers are."

Loki lets out a short laugh. "Loyalty," he replies, with dry amusement. "Is a fickle concept to your mind, I think."

The general stands still, as though he's only just realising his fate. You shift in your seat as anger and horror dawn on his face. "I never killed any brother of mine," Harokin's voice proclaims angrily. You take a breath. "And I will serve no man who kills his kin. The only King I know is King Thor, and you are nothing but a-"

Loki gestures, and you gasp as Harokin's eyes bulge before his head is severed. His body crashes to the wooden floor, and blood flicks out into the crowd, who cry out. Arik stands wide eyed and shaking, and as his master's dead body is dragged offstage, you turn to your husband.

He doesn't look at you, and you glance quickly at the boy before reaching forward. "Loki," you whisper. It's time, and you can't watch any more.

His mouth tightens, and you hear Arik's name being read out.

"Loki," you say again, louder, tugging his forearm, and the people closest to the royal podium stir.

"Silence," Odin snaps and your eyes grow wide. _He promised_ , you think with horror, _he promised_. Loki's gaze moves downwards, so that he doesn't have to watch. Your mouth is dry and panic wells in your throat - Arik is on his knees, and you say Loki's name once more, pleading, angry; and then you hear a meaty thud and a cry from the crowd and you hear what must be the cries of Lorelai's parents.

And through it all Loki says nothing and does nothing, and you realise with horror that he hasn't kept his word. Perhaps he never intended to at all.

You drop your hold from him as though he's made of poison. You can't look at the stage, can't bear to see; you're eyes are wet and betrayed, and you stand quickly and quietly, and leave immediately.

The ground flies under your feet as you stride back into the palace, back to your rooms - Frigga is in her solar with the door ajar, and she calls you as you pass but you don't stop. You're too angry, and you begin to cry - with rage and betrayal and sadness for your failure. You'd promised his parents; you'd sworn it would all be well.

Loki has made a liar of you.

And so suddenly it's clear to you; the man who you had resigned yourself to live with, to eat with, to sleep beside, never changed, never would change, and you were an idiot for thinking otherwise. The door to your chamber slams with a jarring noise, and you rip the cloak from your shoulders. Aching, raw rage wells inside you and you think awful, violent thoughts - you think of your husband, of how Loki must have smashed his face to pulp, how he must have sliced Fandral and Sif open from belly to brains, and how all of that had been done with those long pale hands. Hands which you'd let touch you and caress you and even hold your son.

You feel sick, and you go to the bathroom to empty your stomach of what little contents there were. Bile and vomit pour from your body, and in its wake it leaves nothing but hot, burning hatred.

* * *

Loki does not try to approach you for days and you're thankful for it, if only because you're unsure of your reaction if he did.

Lorelai's parents are gone - you had tried to seek them out, to apologise, to ask if there was anything you could do for them, but they had not wanted to speak to you and by nightfall they had departed Asgard with their son's body. You understand. How could they bear to look at you when all you'd given them was false hope?

In your dreams you see Arik and Lorelai, and Thor, and Sif, and Fandral and Hogun, and Volstagg, and your father, and they are all dead and disappointed. More than once you wake from terrible nightmares in which their deaths replay over and over. Each night fuels your hate and your rage, and your days are spent with your son as you try in vain to forget them.

You take to riding in the forest every morning and evening - sometimes you take Magni with you, and you find a little peace in the moments when he comes across something that delights him. You go into the market with guards; you buy oatcakes and honey-bread, and give generously to the poor and merchants alike. It's selfish at heart; an excuse for you to feel better about yourself, but they smile and thank you and it makes you feel better all the same.

The young man who offers you a yuletide wreath has red hair, and your hands tremble when you accept his gift.

A week passes, and there's a feast to celebrate Loki's triumph over treachery. You have no intention of attending, until Odin makes it clear that it's expected of you. He doesn't relent when you argue back with him furiously - there's something about the old man that you hate almost as much as your husband, something smug and insufferable.

You go to the feast, but you're late and you silently resolve to leave at the earliest opportunity. The hall is full and merry; people are so fickle, you think bitterly, so easily distracted. It's grotesque. Golden braziers glow around the room, granting the air a cosy warmth but you sit stiffly and stone-faced. Loki is sat at his usual place, and your seat beside him is empty. Just resting your eyes on that black hair angers you, and you ask Frigga if she'll sit by you.

"Of course, dearest," she acquiesces, gliding over to you. You sit in the chair next to your own, and she pauses before sitting at Loki's side. Your husband's eyes dart over and then back again. He says nothing to you.

Frigga involves you in conversation before the din from the hall lowers, and Odin stands. You watch the Allfather as he begins to speak. Frigga is smiling, and you say quietly, "The Allfather is recovering his spirits."

"Yes," she murmurs. "He is almost well again." The news makes your lip curl.

"... my son," Odin is saying warmly. His hand rests on Loki's shoulder and you glare. "I confess, as any Father, I worried about how such a position may befit him. But," he raises his mead, "I am happy to say we may always rely on Loki to do the right thing - to not falter, when faced with hard choices. To listen to wise council," your teeth grind, "and to make me proud!"

There's a cheer and the clashing of cups, thought you know the people cheer more for Odin then they do for Loki. Despite his father's words, Loki's face is unmoved - he shakes his head when a servants offers him a drink, and snaps at another when they put the wrong food on his plate.

With the speeches done, you rise swiftly from your seat. Frigga looks up at you in surprise, "Where are you going?" she questions, and Loki's head turns towards you.

"I-"

"Sit," Odin says, and you glare at him with such force that your head feels light.

"I've made an appearance, I've done my duty," you snap. "I'm going to bed." And before anyone can argue, you brush out of the hall.

In your chambers, Magni is being dressed for bed by his nursemaids. You dismiss them and get him ready yourself. He's fond of being read to, and now that his teething has started to wane it's the easiest method for putting him to sleep. The small boy cuddles into you, a thumb in his mouth as youtuck him into the bed and open the book of tales which are his favourite.

You look down at his beloved head and pull him close. Your son will never be so cruel, you think as you begin to read.

Some pages later, and a noise comes from your lounge. Magni stirs, unhappy to have your attention directed away from him. You pet him and give him the book, "Mama will be right back," you promise him with a kiss, "see how much you can read by yourself."

He looks restless, but does as he's told and you sneak out of the room, closing the door over quietly.

Loki stands by your fireplace, watching the orange flames. The sight of him sets your teeth on edge. When you say nothing, he speaks. "You left the feast early."

"Obviously." His eyes flicker to you and back. His expression is unreadable. "I'm very tired," you snap. "Can you leave?"

He turns to you slowly, one hand rubbing the other. "It's the first night of the week," he says.

"So?"

Loki's shoulders are tense. "So, you normally spend this evening in my chambers. Will you-"

"No."

The bluntness of your answer seems to knock him back; he takes a breath. "Are you going to sulk every time you don't get your way?" he asks you sharply.

"My way?" Your voice rises and you force it back down to a normal level. "You killed a boy Loki - little more than a child. You promised me you wouldn't and then you did it anyway, and you think I'm sulking because I haven't got _my way_?" He shifts uncomfortably at your words. Annoyingly, there is moisture in your eyes and you blink it away furiously. "How could you?"

"You heard him, he was guilty," Loki says, voice fast. "What else could I have done?"

"You could have pardoned him! Like you said you would!"

Loki's hands curl into fists and his tongue flicks out over his lips. "There's no saying he wouldn't have tried it again - boys of that age are easily guided by their emotions."

You shake your head. "He wouldn't have," you reply angrily, "we both know that. He wasn't even trying to kill anyone in the first place!"

"He was blinded by grief and affection for his family! What if his father had said he had the right idea? Whose to say he wouldn't have tried again, and succeeded?"

"You're such a fucking hypocrite-"

"How?" Loki demands, sharp as glass.

Your voice rises. "I knew you when you were his age! If someone had been murdered - if something had happened to someone you would want answers, you'd have pursued them for as long as it took! There was nothing - _nothing_ , you would not have done for your family!" Loki shifts minutely, his fingers curling; a tiny movement, but you know him well enough to notice. You pause, eyes filled with tears. "Loki." He says nothing, and your heart races. "It was _him_ , wasn't it?" you breathe, "Odin told you to do it, and you did... Why?"

Still, your husband says nothing, only looks away. You raise your voice, angrier than ever before. Wise council and making Odin proud? You could have slapped yourself for not seeing it sooner. "Why Loki? What did he say to you _this_ time? How did he manipulate you into-"

"Nobody manipulates me into anything," Loki spits. His eyes are furious. "Have you considered that I wanted the boy dead, that I believe he deserved his fate?"

Each word fills you with revulsion. You shake your head in disgust, "No. You're lying."

He leans towards you, continuing, "Well I did. I _hated_ him for trying to take my life, and I _hated_ him for his disobedience, and I _wanted_ him dead, _do you understand_?"

"That's a disgu-"

"Mama?"

Instantly, the shouting stops and you both freeze. Turning, you can see Magni's small silhouette peering around the door. He's sucking his thumb, eyes wide, and there's a large colourful book clutched in his free hand. You step away from Loki, and move towards your son, "Magni, darling." It takes effort to keep your voice from shaking, "What have I told you about going to bed? You have to stay there."

He continues to suck on his thumb, lifting the book and waving it at you. "'ook!"

You accept it from him, ushering him back towards the door. "I know, I'll be in to read to you now." You touch his cheek, "Go on, go back to bed and wait, and I'll be there soon, I promise." He watches you suspiciously as you urge him gently back into his room, before toddling off to do as he's told.

You close the door over quietly. Heavy silence hangs in the space between yourself and Loki. Taking a breath to compose yourself, you turn back to him. He doesn't meet your eyes. "I want you to leave," you say as calmly as you're able.

Loki speaks your name slowly, and you can already feel the shame seeping from him. You hold up a hand. "It's fine." Your voice is sharp. "It's my own fault for thinking you were a better man than you are. After all, I shouldn't have expected anything else from the man who murdered his brother."

He meets your eyes then, and he looks shaken. Loki opens his mouth and closes it again, continuing to stand there. Voice shaking, you repeat yourself. "Please leave."

* * *

Slowly but surely, your guilt and sorrow abate. In their wake they leave anger - you have so much anger in you now. But it is not solely directed at Loki. The Allfather sweeps the halls of Asgard's palace, often against Frigga's wishes. He is regaining his strength and spirit, and with it his influence. Your husband has noticed it too; Loki's mood darkens further the more his father appears, and it becomes commonplace to hear them quarrelling in the halls.

It does not escape your attention that Loki begins to display an open dislike - almost an aversion to his father. _Too little too late_ , you think coldly.

Still, with each day it becomes clearer to you that Odin's machinations had led to Arik's death, though it was Loki who made the final judgement. It will not do, you decide when finally your head is clear of mourning for the boy. You cannot stand being married to a man who can commit such actions; but if Loki is the serpent's body then Odin is its head. So it is that one evening, you ask Haldier to join you for a ride in the woods outside the city.

You ride fast and hard, revelling in the exertion. It's good for your soul to get away from the palace - distance brings everything into focus. When at last you're deep in the heart of the forests, you climb from your horse.

"My Queen?" Haldier asks as you begin to pick your way through the trees off the path.

"There's mistletoe here," you tell him lightly. "I want some for my chambers."

As the good soldier he is, he follows you at a distance, keeping within hearing range. But as you'd hoped, he's not particularly interested in helping you pick petals; he veers off and finds a spot by a tree to pull out his sword and test its edge. You keep him in the corner of your eye as you wander, humming lightly and plucking random leaves from the ground. You prick your fingertip on the edge of a holly-leaf and hiss as blood beads on your skin.

But then you find it; the thing you'd come for.

Asgard's libraries are dense and large and contain books and scripture on all matter of topics; from comedies to doctrines to novels to anthologies, there is plenty of information at hand. You lean down, brushing frost away from the small green berries that hide under a lid of leaves. Finding a book on poisons - then finding one that was not so rare nor so deadly, had been shockingly easy when you knew where to look.

Haldier is still inspecting his sword. You collect several handfuls of the berries, stuffing them deep into the pockets of your cloak, and then hastily pick more mistletoe to fill your arms before turning back.

"All done!" you call brightly.

He nods, unsuspecting, and you hurry back to the horses. As you ride back to the palace, the berries are a comforting weight against your hip, and you smile at people as you pass by. Once you're back at the palace, you wish Haldier a good night and dismiss him.

All the way through the palace you think. How can you get the Allfather alone? You don't want to accidentally harm anyone else. And how would you get a chance to crush the berries, contain the juice, and slip the toxins into his drink without notice? It was a slow-acting poison you had picked; there was no need to rouse suspicion. But that meant you'd need to get it to him several times without raising alarm.

A chill goes down your spine. Were you truly going to do this? This was not the woman your mother had raised or that Thor had married.

 _Yes_ , you think to yourself with grim resolve. _Yes_.

And as you enter your rooms, and your eyes land on your crying son, you realise exactly how.

* * *

"Who's precious? Who's a darling? Yes, you!"

A smile touches your lips as Frigga coos over Magni, who shrieks his newfound words at her. "Cat!" he cries, and she laughs.

"He's a bright boy," the Allmother comments warmly, playing happily with her grandson. You hum in agreement, smiling down as your blonde toddler sits entranced by the little seidhr-tricks Frigga provides for him.

"I know you've been busy of late," you say to her, smoothing the folds of your gown. "And Magni has missed you."

She smiles. "And I him."

As they continue to amuse eachother, you glance across the solar to where Odin sits at his desk. He's writing something and paying no attention to the scene across the room. There's a goblet beside his papers, and not too far from it a tray on which sits a jug of mead and water, and a few crystal glasses. Your eyes linger for a moment, before you return your attention to the Allmother, who asks you if Magni has begun to read yet.

"I suppose he's very young," she concedes when you tell her he's not. "Still, perhaps regular storytelling may encourage him later."

"He does enjoy being read to," you reply, "in fact, we could make an arrangement of it. Two or three times a week, I could bring him here and you could read to him if you like? He does so love the sound of your voice."

Delighted, Frigga agrees, as you imagined she would. "Which nights are best, dear?" she asks you.

"I'm sure we can sort that by ear; I know you get tired, and besides, we're only down the hall."

The Allmother smiles at you again, and you almost feel bad for the intentions behind your kindness. "Wonderful," she says, and goes back to amusing Magni. As she tickles her grandson, and marvels at his golden hair, you wonder if she remembers playing with another small boy who was loud and golden. The thought brings pain to your chest.

You cannot think of Thor now. Without a doubt, he would disagree with your actions. But he's not here, and so you must fend for yourself. Pushing yourself into action, you rise from the floor and gesture across the room. "May I have some water?"

"Of course dear, you don't need to ask," Frigga answers without looking up.

Thanking her, you drift towards the tray which rests beside Odin's desk. He ignores you as you quietly lift the water jug and pour yourself a glass. Your fingers shake a little and you quickly set the glass back down. "Water, Allfather?" You're careful to infuse just the right amount of detachment into your tone - he will certainly suspect you if you suddenly attend his every need.

"None," he says gruffly, still writing.

You scramble for something to say - as you catch sight of Frigga, you ask again. "And the Allmother; would she like some mead perhaps?"

"No mead - it upsets her stomach." His voice is short and he glances at you critically with his one good eye. "You left the victory feast early last week."

Blood pounds in your ears and you nod. "It seemed a little grotesque," you say sharply, "celebrating executions."

He snorts. "And here I thought you had a spine. Don't pull such dramatics in future." His eye is cold, "I don't want my grandson picking up any bad habits from you."

Whatever hesitation had been holding you back is snuffed out. Odin turns back to his writing, once again uninterested in your existence, and you shuffle the small bottle from your sleeve. Under the pretense of refilling your glass, you pinch the top of the dropper - deep inky liquid fills it and as you reach your hand for the handle of the water jug, you squeeze it into the mead jug.

The black jet swirls into the sweet mead momentarily, then fades as it dissolves, swallowed up by the honey-coloured liquid.

One large dose in a single jar should be enough for some nights. Concealing the stopper in your hand, you place the water jug back down and glide away, sipping your clean water.

* * *

 **CHAPTER WARNINGS: death, execution, mild gore.**

 **I'm starting to think poison is becoming a theme of this story: Reader's poisoned by her grief (and dislikes), Loki's poisoned by envy, Odin's poisoning his son's actions, and now there's ACTUAL poisoning going on! My literature professors would be proud.**  
 **We're back to angst for Reader/Loki and the next chapter gets into the nitty-gritty parts of jealousy and suspicion, and it is a fun read!**


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